


The Long and Winding Road

by GoldenFlute



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Blackmail, Child Abuse, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Homophobic characters, I will try to put trigger warnings at chapter beginnings, Isolation, M/M, OC deaths, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts, Teenaged Viktor, Viktor had a coach before Yakov, Viktor with a K, Viktor's life story, Yuuri shows up later, but also supportive characters, will be a bittersweet or happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-19 02:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 54,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10629939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenFlute/pseuds/GoldenFlute
Summary: “Mama, Papa… I’m gay.”Viktor didn't realize the gravity these words would have on his life.  Rejected by his parents, he turns to the only other adult he trusts - his childhood coach.  But when Viktor uncovers his coach's disturbing secret, it's too late for him to run.He walks the isolating road to success.A story of Viktor's tragic childhood and how he became the man he is today.





	1. Run For Your Life

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I wrote this story because I wanted to create something really out of my comfort zone as an exercise. This work is inspired by a few different things, but mostly by my favorite character in YOI, Viktor Nikiforov. We don't know a lot about his early life, so this is my (very sad and slightly demented) take on how he got to where he is today. 
> 
> At this point, I have completed 15 chapters of the story so far, and am estimating it to be 17-19 chapters long, but we shall see. I will be updating a chapter a day.
> 
> Like I said in the tags, I will do my best to give trigger warnings, but if you notice I missed something, please tell me and I will update as needed!
> 
> **Possible triggers for this chapter: Homophobia, violent rejection

CHAPTER ONE – RUN FOR YOUR LIFE

“Mama, Papa… I’m gay.”

There. He said it. 

Clenching his hands until his knuckles turned white, Viktor took a deep breath before facing his parents. Twin looks of shock painted their white faces. Now he wished he’d waited until Tatiana was home from work. He’d already come out to his older sister months ago, and her quick thinking and logical way of explaining things would have done wonders to break the horrible, wrenching silence that hung over the living room.

“Viktor…” his mother whispered, like he’d just admitted to murder.

His father stood, his fists shaking. His white complexion changed to blotted red, allowing the bulging whites of his blue eyes – the eyes Viktor had inherited – to burn brightly. 

“Get out.”

Viktor’s ears rang. “…What?” 

Vasily Nikiforov rushed at his fourteen-year-old son, grabbing bunches of the boy’s collar in his thick fingers.

“Get out!”

He nearly lifted Viktor off the couch as he shook him. Viktor, for his part, gripped his father’s wrists in an attempt to pry them loose from his clothes. He wanted nothing more than to travel back five minutes – to tell himself that this was a stupid idea. Tears poured down his face.

“Papa, please stop!” he sobbed, but Vasily backhanded him.

“You are a disgrace!” he shouted as Viktor attempted to wipe the blood from his mouth. “Leave! Leave now! If you try to return, I will shoot you before you step one foot through my door!”

“Vasily, you’re hurting him,” Céleste Nikiforov rose from her chair with difficulty. She rushed as much as she could to her husband, putting a porcelain hand on his arm while the other cradled her very pregnant belly with the other. 

Vasily came back to himself, throwing Viktor back to the couch where he huddled, sobbing. His signature ponytail had come loose, and his thick gray hair spilled over his face like a curtain that he could use to protect himself from his father’s murderous gaze.

“He is an abomination, Céleste,” Vasily told her, as if she hadn’t heard him yelling the same thing at Viktor moments ago. “I do not want one of _his kind_ in my house. This is your goddamned brother’s fault! I know he put those thoughts into his head!”

“Dearest, Vitya is just a child,” Céleste argued gently, doing her best to steer her husband away from their cowering son. “He doesn’t know what he wants. Perhaps give it some time. I’m sure he will grow out of it—”

“I won’t!” Viktor shouted, rage erupting in his chest at his mother’s crushing betrayal. At the very least, he’d expected her support – Uncle François was gay and she’d always seemed fine with it! 

“This isn’t a phase – this is _me_! You can shake me all you want, hit me as much as you like, but it won’t stop me from liking boys—”

Vasily grabbed his hunting rifle from the desk where he’d been maintaining it. Opening the bolt, he shoved several rounds into the chamber.

“If you are still on my property by the time this is loaded, I will kill you.”

“Vitya, go,” Céleste warned. She turned to face him, her green eyes wide with shock. She wouldn’t cry – Viktor rarely knew her to cry. But when he met her gaze, he understood her unspoken warning: She would not be able to stop the natural force that was her husband.

The rifle’s bolt push back into the chamber just as the ends of Viktor’s hair vanished from the room. He fumbled with the door’s lock, slowed by both shaking hands and blinding tears. Finally, he threw the door open and flung himself out into the snowy street. He didn’t even bother to close the door behind him, and instead sprinted as fast as he could away from the house, vaulting over the fence in an effort to get out of his father’s line of sight, in case Vasily had followed him. 

He didn’t dare look behind him.

The stark cold wind blistered his throat with each despairing breath. He clutched a hand to his chest, gripping the wrinkles of his shirt where his father’s fists had shaken and bruised him. Thank god he’d been wearing his winter boots, or his feet would have frozen as he trudged through several feet of snow. The rest of him wasn’t nearly as lucky, with only distressed jeans and an oversized cashmere sweater standing between him and the grueling Russian winter. He’d be frozen before he could find some place to keep – his family’s house wasn’t far outside of St. Petersburg proper by car, but it was far enough away to be a terribly long walk, even in the nicest weather.

When Viktor had been running for ten minutes straight, his energy abandoned him and he slowed to a halt, bending over to catch his breath. His father wouldn’t have followed him for ten minutes. 

Now that he was out of immediate danger of being shot, the weight of what had happened crashed into Viktor like a freight train. He fell to his knees, buried up to his waist in snow and sobbed into his trembling fingers. Hot tears froze quickly on his face as he tried to scrub them away. His mouth throbbed painfully where his father hit him.

What was going to happen to him? When would he be able to return home? _Would_ he be able to? Would Tatiana and his mother manage to talk some sense into his father? And what if they couldn’t? Where would he go?

Viktor gulped down his panic. This was not the time to lose his head. He needed to plan first, and fall apart later. Either that or they’d be selling frozen bits of him on Ebay by morning. He needed a house to stay in. He should have thought to plan ahead. Idiot. Idiot.

As much as he tried, he couldn’t think of a single person to contact for help. His grandparents – his father’s parents – lived almost a two-day car ride away, in Tobolsk. Even if he could get to them, he had no way of knowing if they would take him in once he told them why he’d been kicked out. As far as he knew, they were the root of his father’s way of thinking. His mother’s family lived in Paris, an even more impossible destination, especially considering he’d left his passport and bank cards in his room.

None of his rinkmates knew of his circumstances – not that he felt like he could impose on their families if they did. He’d never really made friends at school either – most everyone there only wanted to be close to him because of the name he was slowly building for himself.

Coach Daniil, then. He was the only other adult that Viktor could think of. He knew his coach lived in a small apartment, but he didn’t mind sleeping on the floor until he could think of a better alternative, if Daniil would allow him to stay. But Daniil lived all the way in the city. Viktor would never make it there before he got frostbite.

Miraculously, headlights appeared behind Viktor, casting his shadow long across the snow. He clambered to his feet and spun around to face the oncoming car, terrified that his father had followed him. But no – this car was much nicer. Probably heading into the city. Wait.

Ignoring the risk, Viktor stepped into the car’s path and raised his arms above his head, trying to look desperate, but not so desperate as to scare his savior away. Amazingly, the car pulled to the side and the driver window rolled down to reveal a man in a suit.

“Kid, are you nuts? I could have hit you! Wait… are you… _are you Viktor Nikiforov?_ ”

“Wha– oh, yes, that’s me,” Viktor said as he wrapped his arms around his middle to keep warm. The man’s mouth broke out into a giant grin.

“I can’t believe this – my daughter is a huge fan. She’s a figure skater too, and watches all of your competitions. I’ve got a pen and paper here somewhere, can I get your… are you okay?”

Finally, the man seemed to notice Viktor’s tearstained and wind-bitten face.

“I’m… well, I need a ride,” Viktor said honestly.

“Where to?”

“St. Petersburg – my coach’s apartment. I’ll autograph something in exchange….”

“You’ve got a deal. Hop in!”

The man unlocked the passenger door, allowing Viktor to sidle into the blissfully warm car.

“Seat warmer?” the man asked.

“Please,” Viktor huffed, rubbing the feeling back into his fingers. He pulled down the visor to check his face in the mirror little mirror. He looked like a wreck. It was going to be impossible to comb through the rat’s nest his hair had become. His face was red and blistered where the wind had gotten to him, and the corner of his mouth was slowly turning purple around a small, bright cut.

“What are you doing walking around dressed like that in the middle of winter?” the man asked once Viktor returned the visor to its original position. “And what happened to your face?”

“I’d rather not say,” Viktor said as he ran his thumb over the cut. It stung and hoped that it wouldn’t look too bad in the morning. “But thank you so much for stopping. I honestly don’t think I would have made it to St. Petersburg alive if you hadn’t.”

“Of course – honestly, I can’t believe my luck. I was trying to think of what to get my daughter for her birthday when you stepped in front of my car....”

Viktor leaned his head against the window and listened to the man ramble on about his wife and daughter, trying very hard not to think of his own family, and the gap in his heart left by their betrayal. He hoped beyond words that everything would be sorted out by morning.

*

By the time they made into the city, it was well past midnight, having been slowed down by the snow and the man’s chatter. Viktor gladly signed several pieces of paper that were shoved under his nose, just thankful that he could feel his fingers enough to hold a pen. After thanking the man several times, he stepped into the cold. The man gave him a final wave before driving off, presumably to wake his daughter and surprise her with a story for the ages.

Viktor turned to his coach’s apartment. It wasn’t in the greatest part of town, and several others hung around the door under clouds of smoke.

“Hey, beautiful,” one of them called to him. Offended, he turned to the catcaller. 

When the man saw his face, he shrugged. “Sorry man, I thought you were a chick…”

Viktor decided not to dignify the man with a reply. He hurried to the locked door and pushed the button labeled with his coach’s last name – Andreev. 

After several buzzes, a voice picked up on the other end; “Yes?”

“Daniil, it’s Viktor. Please let me in.”

“Viktor? What are you – yes, yes, come up.”

The lock on the door clicked open. Daniil’s apartment was several stories tall, and didn’t have an elevator. Unfortunately for Viktor’s sore legs, his coach lived at the very top. He remembered having to run up and down the stairs for training when he was little, before he could afford gym memberships with his competition winnings. Back then, his parents had been so excited to encourage his passion – ‘Our little Olympian’, they would call him. They weren’t rich, and they’d sacrificed so much to see him rise to the top.

By the time Viktor reached the highest floor, tears were running down his face all over again. He leaned against the wall and sniffed several times, trying to control himself.  
His coach’s door opened to reveal a short, stout, middle-aged man with tufted, hair that alternated between a dark brown and a striking silver. The wrinkles deepened across his mouth and eyes when looked Viktor up and down, taking in his ratted hair, soaking clothes and ghostly expression. He crossed his arms.

“What happened?” Daniil demanded in his coach voice. Viktor gasped a few times to try to stop his crying. He steeled himself.

“I’m gay,” he said. He may as well say it up front, get it over with. “I’m gay, and I just told my family, and my dad threatened… he was ready to shoot me, Daniil, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do!”

So much for staying strong. He fell apart the moment he thought of the absolute loathing in his own father’s eyes. Just yesterday, his father had told Viktor how proud he was of him. Both of their illusions had been shattered tonight, and it was Viktor’s fault. Would it have been so bad to go on pretending to like all of the girlfriends his parents and classmates set him up with? If he’d just kept his mouth shut, he would be in his room now, listening to music, dreaming up the programs he wanted to perform someday, once Daniil allowed him to.

Strong arms pulled him into an embrace. Viktor flinched, and then buried his face into Daniil’s shoulder, digging his fingers into his coach’s clothes. His cries echoed in the stairwell, and he couldn’t stop them. His life was over. He would never be able to pursue his dreams, not without his parents’ financial support. He’d be lucky if he could even get a job at some backalley place that didn’t mind paying a minor under the table. He’d never be able to afford gear, travel tickets, and his Daniil’s monster bills on the paltry winnings in his savings account.

“It’s okay,” Daniil said, awkwardly patting Viktor’s shoulder with a beefy hand. “Come inside. Let’s talk.”


	2. A Hard Day's Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor's big sister pays a visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay - I'm moving and Comcast shut off my internet a week early. *shakes fist*
> 
> Thank you for the positive response so far! It's been a while since I shared a fanfic online, so it's nice to know people are enjoying so far!
> 
> Triggers: Mentions of homophobia
> 
> Enjoy!

CHAPTER TWO - A HARD DAY'S NIGHT

“Looks like you got into a bar fight or something,” Daniil said as he pressed a steaming mug of tea into Viktor’s hands. He crouched down in front of him to get a look at the bruise around his student’s mouth.

Viktor sat huddled on his coach’s couch, wearing a pair of Daniil’s pajamas that were too short and wide for him. At least they weren’t wet. He took a sip of tea and paused to feel it hit his stomach, warming him. Chamomile. His mother used to make it for him when he couldn’t sleep….

“Now none of that,” Daniil said as Viktor lowered his head to hide his tears. “It’s like I tell you all the time, you can’t let one small setback block your path forward.”

“Small setback?” Viktor said. “Small? Daniil, my father threatened to kill me. I almost froze to death trying to get here.”

“And you’re gay.”

“Yes, I am.” Viktor took another sip of tea, hoping it wouldn't be his last. “Are you going to kick me out too?”

Daniil snorted. “Viktor, you’re not the first homosexual person I’ve met – in this profession, you can’t swing a cat without hitting at least four. I’m not going to kick you out. I’m just… well… I’m not sure how we’re going to work this. Do you want me to call your dad and talk to him?”

“No,” Viktor said quickly. “No, please don’t. I don’t want him to know where he can find me.”

Daniil looked him straight in the eyes like he hadn’t really seen him all night.

“You’re really scared, aren’t you?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve told you several times that he wanted to kill me tonight.”

Daniil chuckled. “You did, you did. Sorry.” He patted Viktor’s knee and hoisted himself to his feet. “Well, if you’re getting snarky, you’re at least feeling more like yourself. I’m afraid I can only offer you a couch to sleep on, but you’re welcome to it. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Viktor let out a long, low breath that cleared his lungs of some of the apprehension that had settled there.

“Thank you, Daniil.”

*

“I don’t think I’ll be able to keep paying you,” Viktor admitted the next morning over a cup of cheap coffee and a partially-frozen breakfast bagel.

“I’m sure your old man will come around,” Daniil offered as he sipped his own coffee. “I could just bill you later – I do that with a few of my other students.”

“But what if he doesn’t come around and I can’t foot the bill? I’m fourteen, Daniil – I know you’ve won me a few junior awards, but it’s not like I’m making enough to earn a living yet!”

“ _Yet_ ,” Daniil laughed. “That’s something I’ve always admired about you, Viktor. It’s never _if_ , it’s always _when_. With confidence like yours, you’ll go places. I’d hate for you to have to give it all up now, just because you’re afraid of money problems.” He took a bite of his own breakfast bagel and chewed. “Tell you what. I’ll keep training you, pro bono for six months. If your old man comes around, we’ll worry about bills then. If he doesn’t I won’t charge you.”

“Can you really afford to work for free?” Viktor asked, eyeing the dilapidated kitchen. Several floor tiles were missing, and the table wobbled worse than an inebriated soldier on Victory Day.

“Well… not really,” Daniil admitted. “But sometimes, you just have to invest in your future. Viktor, if any of my students is going to make it somewhere big, it’s going to be you. I’d like to ride off of your coattails as long as I can.”

“So I’m an investment?”

“And a wise one, by my reckoning.” Daniil raised his coffee mug in mock toast. “I’ll be fine – don’t worry about me.”

“You’re being so nice to me.” Viktor stared at his hands twisting in his lap. “I don’t think I’ll be able to repay you for your kindness, even if I won the next ten Winter Olympics blindfolded.”

“That’s the spirit.” Daniil walked out of the kitchen, leaving Viktor alone with his thoughts.

*

Tatiana found Viktor at the rink later that afternoon.

“Vitya!” she shouted as she barreled into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Viktor tilted back on his blades, but Tatiana kept him upright as she squeezed the air out of him. They stayed that way for several minutes, trying to convey all of their emotions in a single hug.

Finally, Tatiana pulled away. “I am so sorry I wasn’t there for you, Vitya. You should have told me you were going to tell them!”

She brushed her own light hair out of her shadowed eyes – she’d obviously just gotten off of a long shift at the hospital. Her dreams of being a Neurosurgeon had taken a backseat to Viktor’s needs as an almost-professional figure skater for as long as Viktor had taken to the ice. She’d been footing her own school bills by working part-time as a graveyard-shift nurse. Viktor hoped that with him out of the way, their parents would help her with her dreams.

“I would have told you if I knew I was going to come out last night,” Viktor said, trying not to let Tatiana see the tears forming in his eyes. “Does… does he still hate me?”

Tatiana didn’t need to ask whom Viktor was talking about. Her eyes darkened and she reached out to gently thumb the bruise at Viktor’s mouth.

“Papa is mad, Viktor. Very mad. When I got home, he was stomping around the house, carrying his rifle. Mama was crying. I asked them what happened and then left to come find you. Papa knew where I was going and told me to tell you that his mind hasn’t changed since last night.”

“I didn’t think it would,” Viktor mumbled, gently prying her hand away from his face. He didn’t expect anything to change, but it still hurt to hear. Until then, he could carry on with the hope that things would return to normal once his father calmed down. Now that hope had been dashed.

“Here,” Tatiana rolled over Viktor’s own well-worn suitcase. “I packed some clothes, your wallet, passport, toiletries, laptop, phone, mp3… I tried to stuff as many of your notebooks in as I could, but you have so many. And it’s not much, but here….”

Tatiana pulled her wallet out of her purse and handed Viktor 6,000 rubles.

“Tati, I can’t take your money,” Viktor tried to give it back, but Tatiana dodged out of the way.

“Yes you can,” she insisted. “Listen, this won’t be for a long while – maybe over a year – but once I can afford an apartment, I want you to come live with me.”

Viktor was getting really tired of crying, but he didn’t try to hide it this time. He flung his arms around his sister and squeezed her tight.

“Thank you, Tati….”

“I love you, Vitya,” she breathed into his shoulder. “Where will you stay in the meantime? I could call Babushka or Mémé and see if they could take you in.”

“I’m staying with Coach Daniil,” Viktor said. “He’s agreed to be my coach for six months, pro bono.”

“Really?” Tatiana asked, her eyebrows rising past her bangs. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Viktor said. “He’s just being nice. And if I can keep training, I want to. Going to Babushka’s or Mémé’s would mean having to give up skating.”

“Well… alright, then. Thank him for me, will you?” Tatiana said. “And please take care. Call me whenever you can. Keep me updated. I want to have lunch with you at least once a week, okay?”

“Okay,” Viktor said, a little overwhelmed at how much Tatiana had thought to put together for him. Even having his own suitcase next to him made him feel better – he couldn’t wait to go back to Daniil’s and see which of his routine notebooks Tatiana had packed for him.

*

“What’s that?” Daniil asked, peeking over Viktor’s shoulder at a series of sketches – bird’s eye maps with arrows and markings indicating jumps and spins.

“A new routine I’m coming up with,” Viktor said, handing the pages to his coach. “I was thinking of trying out a quad Salchow.”

“You know you’re not allowed to practice quads yet, Viktor,” Daniil reminded him as he scanned the moves. “Hard as it is to believe, I think you’ve still got some growing left in you, and jumps like that could cause some serious damage.”

“Maybe triples, then?” Viktor conceded. “What do you think of the moves?”

“Well, they’re not what I would pick for you,” Daniil admitted, handing the papers back to Viktor. “I’m working on a new routine for you – Swan Lake. It’ll be a solid, safe option, so let’s just stick with that for now.”

Once Daniil left the kitchen, Viktor groaned and banged his head on the table. He wanted to vomit. Swan Lake? Only every skater in the world performed to Swan Lake. Years and years of archaic expectations caused the best skaters to fall in line with the old and done. Viktor wanted so dearly to step outside of that box. Especially now that, in his personal life, he was well outside his comfort zone – he wanted to reflect that in his performances. Why didn’t Daniil ever take his choreography seriously? Was he that bad at it?

He turned his drawings upside-down and tried to look at them from Daniil’s perspective. They didn’t look any different than what his coach usually planned for him. If he was being honest, he thought these were still better, even at a different angle.

He reached into his suitcase and pulled out the rest of the notebooks, leafing through them. If he could find a routine that stuck out at him, maybe he could practice it in his spare time and show Daniil. His coach always seemed like the type of person who needed to see it to believe it anyway – maybe Viktor’s marks on paper didn’t translate as well as actually seeing it performed.

Goal in mind, Viktor poured over his work, editing old routines into the early hours of the morning, his eyes growing tired. He didn’t have the heart to stop. At least his routines were something he could make perfect, even when his life shattered around his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, my chapters are ten pages long on my computer, but they hardly look like it in the HTML format!
> 
> Anyhoo, thank you for reading! My roommate is going to rip Comcast a new one tomorrow, so I don't anticipate another delay. See you tomorrow!
> 
> =(ˆ•ㅅ•ˆ)=


	3. If I Fell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second and third wave of misfortune hit Viktor simultaneously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Death, homophobia, suicide contemplation, creepy sexual stuff that's not actually sex, but is creepy.

CHAPTER THREE - IF I FELL

Only a few weeks after his banishment, Tatiana called Viktor to tell him that their mother had given birth to their twin sisters, Darya and Irina. 

“I’ll show you pictures the next time we have lunch,” she said. “Oh Vitya, they are so cute. I wish you could meet them in person.” 

“Me too,” Viktor replied unenthusiastically. In truth, he felt numb. News of his mother’s pregnancy had first been met with bewildered enthusiasm. Viktor couldn’t wait to meet his new brother or sister, and was absolutely ecstatic to not be the baby of the family anymore. When they found out Céleste was pregnant with twins, he’d thrown himself into the celebrations, helping his parents turn his father’s study into a nursery. They’d all talked about names, birthdays, first steps, and Viktor thought at the time that he couldn’t wait to see their faces. 

Now they were born, and he hadn’t been there. If his father had his way, Viktor would never get to meet them. Tatiana would make sure they knew they had a brother, but he would be little more than a stranger to them. Before, their birth had been about new beginnings. Now, it was the end of Viktor’s family as he had known it. He’d been replaced. 

“Viktor?” Tatiana asked, snapping Viktor out of his spiral. 

“Sorry, what?” 

“I asked if you wanted to have lunch tomorrow....” 

As the months passed, Viktor fell into an uneasy routine. Daniil never once bothered him about money. He let him train and eat his food, use his water - everything - without a word of complaint. Even though the six-month deadline was drawing nearer, Viktor hadn’t been able to bring himself to call his father. 

When a single month remained of Daniil’s offered six, he started brining up the conversation that Viktor hadn’t had with his father yet. 

“I just haven’t found the right time,” Viktor would say. 

“I get it, I won’t bother you,” Daniil replied. “Just remember – you get more points by trying and missing a jump than by not performing the jump at all.” 

Stupid ice skating logic. 

Tatiana spammed Viktor with pictures of their sisters on a regular basis. They’d quickly grown from pruny alien creatures to adorable, plump infants with gumless grins. He couldn’t help but fall in love with them, and spent his nights thumbing through Tatiana’s Myspace feed in search of more pictures that she couldn’t afford to send him over the phone. 

One night, as he found a picture of his parents and sisters together, he stared for a long while until he thought he might bore a hold through his laptop. 

Without thinking, he grabbed his phone and dialed his father’s cell phone number. It was two in the morning, but he couldn’t help that this was the first time he’d felt brave enough to talk to his father in months. 

“Viktor?” his father picked up the phone, his voice harsh and groggy. 

“Papa,” Viktor greeted warily. 

“What do you want?” 

“To talk.” 

“Now?” 

“Yes… please.” 

“Fine. Have you finally decided to give up this façade?” 

“I… no. Papa, I can’t change who I am. But please, if you’d only listen—” 

“There’s nothing worth to listening to,” Vasily cut in. “Stay away from my family, Viktor, or I will have you arrested for disturbing my peace. Don’t bother calling again unless it’s to tell me that you’ve gone back to normal.” 

He hung up the phone, leaving Viktor on the other end of a dead line, his mouth agape, the hole in his heart bleeding afresh. 

He threw his phone and it hit Daniil’s bedroom door. He didn’t care. He curled up on the couch, shaking uncontrollably. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…. 

“Vitya?” Daniil came into the living room. He rubbed his eyes and frowned at his star pupil. “What happened?” 

“I called him,” Viktor gasped. “I called him and he told me to stay away from his family. _His_ family! Like I’m not a part of it anymore! I can’t keep doing this, I can’t! I can’t pay you for the last six months, I can’t get a job, I can’t afford a place to live, I haven’t placed in the last two competitions… I can’t keep borrowing money from Tatiana… I don’t know what to do!”

Daniil hadn’t moved while Viktor rambled. When the teenager finally talked himself into a stupor, he managed to push himself forward, patting Viktor’s shaking shoulder. 

“I’m never very good with crying,” he said. “And I’ve never known you to be a crier.” 

“I wasn’t – not until my life ended!” Viktor wailed. 

“Okay, that’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” Daniil asked, sitting next to Viktor, but the skater sprang from the couch at the same time, pacing the living room, his hair in a flyaway mess. 

“Dramatic? I don’t have a family anymore, Daniil! I don’t have a place to stay, no one in the world cares about me!” 

“That’s rich, considering I’ve been housing you for five months.” 

Viktor stopped his rant. He dropped his gaze to his bare toes. 

“Sorry,” he offered. “This just… I wanted things to be different.” 

“Don’t we always? I wanted to be a billionaire with a huge house, ten dogs, and a young, beautiful wife. Sometimes you just have to take what you can get and be happy with it.” Daniil rose from the couch, stopping in front of Viktor and pushing the teenager’s hair behind his ear. Viktor froze at the contact. Daniil pulled his hand away slowly. 

“I’m not going to kick you out, even after the six month time limit,” the coach said quietly. “Just… get some sleep.” 

He retreated into his bedroom and shut the door. 

A little confused, Viktor settled back on the couch, pulling the old blanket over his head and waiting for sleep that didn’t come. 

* 

A few weeks later, Viktor received the surprise of his life when he saw his father’s cell number light up on his phone. Hardly daring to hope, he accepted the call. 

“Papa?” 

“Tatiana’s dead,” his father said. “You both were close, so I thought you would want to know.” 

“What?” Viktor laughed. He knew his father hated him, but lying about his own daughter’s death was a new low. 

“She’s dead,” Vasily said again. “Hit and run. She was walking to her car after work and some drunk bastard ran into her. Killed her instantly. He’ll be dead too, once I find him.” 

“Why are you saying this?” Viktor asked, doing his best to keep panic from rising in his voice. “How could you say this?” 

“Because your sister is dead, Viktor,” his father repeated. “If you think I’m trying to joke around, you have a sick sense of humor.” 

Reality washed over Viktor in a venomous wave. He couldn’t feel anything. His ears suddenly stopped working. He went blind. All he could think about was Tatiana’s face. Her smiling face. Cold. Lifeless. 

“We’re setting her finances in order and she left all of her savings to you. A check is being mailed to Daniil’s, so don’t be surprised when you see it.” 

“The funeral,” Viktor said. “I want to come to the funeral.” 

“We already had it. This morning.” 

Did his father even realize how cruel he was being? 

“Where was she… where was she buried?” 

“Viktor, I’m tired of waiting for you to come to your senses. I don’t have the energy. As far as I’ve concerned, two of my children are dead. I’m blocking your number. Don’t bother calling back,” Vasily said before hanging up. 

Viktor stared at his phone for a long time, his mind running a thousand miles a minute. Tatiana. She was so kind, so wonderful. The world without her there was… it was pointless. He reeled around and removed a large knife from it's the block on the kitchen counter. Holding the point to his throat, he wondered if a clean stab through would kill him instantly, or if he would have to wait to drown in his blood. He didn’t care. 

Still, he hesitated. The point pressed against his throat quivered as his hands shook. 

_Just do it,_ a poisonous voice bubbled to the surface of his conscience. _No one would care. No one would miss you._

__Before today, when he still had Tatiana, his family’s rejection had been bearable. His fans would miss him, probably. They’d be sad for a while, then forget him. Daniil… he felt bad that he would have to clean up after the mess Viktor made of himself. And the twins. He could handle not knowing them, if only they could keep Tatiana in their lives._ _

With a yell, Viktor pulled the knife from his throat and stabbed it into the table, through his homework. Backing away with wide eyes, he shook his head. He couldn’t be alone with himself now. 

“Daniil!” Viktor shouted, tearing out of the kitchen and into the living room. He’d never gone into Daniil’s room, wanting to give his coach some semblance of privacy. This time, he entered, looking around for his guardian. 

“Daniil! I need you!” 

It became apparent that Daniil wasn't there. Viktor curled up on the floor and sobbed. If he waited here, Daniil would save him from himself. He was safe for now, wasn’t he? 

He cried for what seemed like years – until he his body had no more tears to give him. A headache settled behind his eyes. While he stared forward in an apathetic stupor, something caught his eye under Daniil’s bed – a photo, poking out of a shoebox. 

It was a photo of him. 

Reaching out with trembling fingers, he pulled the shoebox closer. The picture seemed recent – in it, Viktor was asleep, resting on Daniil’s couch, his arms and legs splayed everywhere. It was a relatively harmless picture, but Viktor didn’t like that his coach had taken it without asking him. 

He opened the shoebox and felt himself go numb. 

Dozens of pictures stacked on top of another, rubber banded together in neat piles, labeled with various names. Viktor recognized some of the subjects as his fellow rinkmates, both boys and girls. Blurry shots of them at the rink, of them stretching, a few of them sitting in Daniil’s kitchen. Viktor found the pile with his name on it – larger than the others. Many of them were the same as the others – images of him skating, and stretching. It included more pictures of him on the couch, sleeping at the kitchen table, watching TV with his hair pulled back. He shuffled through them, his rage building. Why did Daniil keep all of these photos of his students? Then he stopped dead. 

There was a photo of him stepping into the shower. A portion of the door was in the shot, like Daniil had tried to be discreet. But Viktor was visible. All of him. Several more pictures from other days showed similar themes, both in Daniil’s apartment and in the skating rink’s locker room, that made Viktor’s skin crawl. 

A sudden sense of danger washed over him. He replaced the pictures, save for his own pile, and shoved the shoebox back under the bed. He had to leave. Daniil had been kind to him, but it hadn’t been for free like he’d thought. 

Daniil suddenly entered his bedroom, pulling off his trenchcoat. He jumped when he saw Viktor standing in front of him. 

“Vitya? What are you doing?” he asked. His eyes trailed down to the stack of pictures in Viktor’s hand and his expression darkened. “I see.” 

Too late to flee. Time to fight. He mustered up all the anger he could manage. “What is this?” he demanded scathingly, brandishing the stack of his own personal pictures. 

“I… it… it’s not only you,” Daniil offered, as if that justified his disgusting hobby.  
“I know, I saw the shoebox,” Viktor sneered. “I trusted you. When everyone else had abandoned me, you were there, and I trusted you. How could you do this?” 

“Vitya—” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Viktor, I’m sorry. I’ll destroy the photos.” 

“To make room for more? You… you sick pervert!” He threw the photos at Daniil. The band holding them together snapped, and the deck exploded, countless images of him twirling to the floor. As he watched them, he couldn’t help the tears that fell down his face. 

“My sister is dead!” Viktor sobbed. “She’s dead and you’re just sitting there, g-getting off at pictures of your _underage_ students!” 

“Tatiana is dead?” Daniil asked. “How? What happened?” 

With a sick twist, Viktor remembered that Daniil had also been her coach, when she was younger. She’d never really taken to skating the way Viktor had. But had that stint been enough time for Daniil to compile his own collection of her pictures? 

“It’s none of your business.” Viktor gritted his teeth as he pushed past his coach, rushing into the living room and throwing as many of his things as he could into his suitcase. 

“What are you doing?” Daniil asked. 

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m leaving.” 

“You can’t leave.” 

Viktor laughed, well aware of how high-pitched and insane it came out. He kept packing. Daniil kept talking. 

“Where will you go? Who else will take you in? Your family’s abandoned you. I’ve been good to you, haven’t I? Please stay.” 

Viktor zipped up his suitcase. He knew a few of his notebooks were still in the kitchen, and his homework – his toothbrush and toiletries in the bathroom – but he’d have to write them off. He couldn’t afford to be cornered. 

Daniil stepped in his path as he headed for the door. 

“Vitya…” 

Viktor shouldered by him, but at the contact, Daniil grabbed his arm, pulling him around to face him. He studied him for half a second before grabbing the back of his head and pulling him in and placing his whiskered lips over Viktor’s. Shocked, Viktor tried to fight, but Daniil had hold of his hair, keeping him in place. Only when he tried to knee him did Daniil relinquish his grip. He stepped back, breathing deeply, making sure to block Viktor’s direct line to the door. 

“Stay,” he gasped. “I’ve been good to you. I haven’t hurt you.” 

“You’re sick,” Viktor said finally, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Let me by.” 

“If you leave…” Daniil’s eyes darted around for inspiration. “If you leave… I will charge you for all of the unpaid coaching fees, all of the food you’ve eaten, the water you’ve used. You won’t be able to afford another coach. I’ll spread the word that you’re not worth your salt – not worth taking on. I can ruin you. Your career will be over. You’ll have nothing except for a tarnished legacy and an old suitcase filled with false dreams.” 

Viktor couldn’t speak. He couldn’t think. Too much was happening. Could Daniil really do that? He’d heard stories of athletes who found it impossible to find another coach after having a terrible spat with their previous one. He’d always thought it was the athlete’s fault for being bullish and pigheaded – but from this angle, the reasons seemed more sinister. Viktor couldn’t let that happen to himself. Skating was the only thing he had left. 

Daniil took Viktor’s hand, prying his fingers, one at a time, from the handle of his suitcase. “Stay, Vitya.” 

The suitcase dropped to the ground with a thump. When it left his hand, Viktor also felt the last of his control slip away. What was his life anymore except a series of overwhelming calamities? 

Daniil pulled Viktor into an embrace. Yesterday, Viktor would have thought little of it. Now, he wanted nothing more than to pull away. 

“Thank you,” Daniil whispered, stroking his student’s hair. “You won’t regret it. I will make you the best goddamn skater to ever grace the ice. Together, you and I will do amazing things. Now go clean yourself up – you look like a warm shower would do you good.” 

Viktor drifted into the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. When had the shadows under his eyes taken over like this? Just today? So much had happened, but Viktor found he couldn’t comprehend it all. 

He noticed the lack of a lock on the bathroom door for the first time. With a glance at it every few seconds to make sure it stayed closed, Viktor pulled off his pajamas and stepped into the shower, letting the water run off him for several minutes. 

When he emerged from the shower, Daniil wasn’t in the living room. His suitcase was gone, as well as his binders and homework from the table. The knife had been removed from the table, and the entire block of knives was missing from its usual spot. So much for that. 

He turned off the lights and sank into the couch, facing the floral upholstery, trying his best to block out the world. Even after everything, he couldn’t sleep. Instead, he drifted into a state of indifference, allowing himself to not feel anything for a few blissful moments. 

Suddenly, he felt a warm body lay next to his. He jolted up, but a hand grabbed his shoulder, forcing him back down. 

“Shh, it’s just me,” Daniil whispered, as if he were keeping a secret. “Just lay still, it’s alright. I’m here, Vitya… I’m here….” 

As if that were supposed to comfort him. Daniil covered them both with the blanket and put a vice-like arm around Viktor’s waist, using his other hand to stroke Viktor’s hair and back. They stayed like that the whole night, Viktor not allowing himself to relax until his exhausted body finally gave in. He fell into a fitful sleep, his coach cooing into his ear and invading his dreams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, shit has truly hit the fan. Poor Viktor...
> 
> Alas, my internet is still down, so I am scrounging around for wifi in order to upload this. Hopefully it's resolved for tomorrow's chapter.
> 
> Thank you for reading!!
> 
> =(ˆ•ㅅ•ˆ)=


	4. I'll Cry Instead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor falls further into Daniil's repulsive web.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally have internet back! Yay!
> 
> Trigger warnings: Non-con sexual content

CHAPTER FOUR – I’LL CRY INSTEAD

“Here’s the idea I had for your costume,” Daniil said one morning over breakfast, handing Viktor a few sheets of paper, showing sketches of the same outfit at a few different angles. It had been a month since Viktor learned of Tatiana’s death. He’d hoped he would be over it by now, but he’d quickly learned it wasn’t that easy. Viktor stared blankly at the costume. “Since you’ll be performing the pas de deux between Sigfried and Odile, I thought it might be nice for your costume to be a part of them both.”

It was beautiful, to be honest, comprised almost completely of black velvet and fishnet, save for a few loose crystals that traveled from the belt up the right shoulder. A half-skirt flared out at the right hip, probably intending to be and ode to Odile’s tutu. He should have been happy that his coach was putting this much thought into his routine and appearance, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

“Don’t you like it?” Daniil asked, taking the drawings back and sitting in the chair next to Viktor. “I thought it would make your eyes shine.”

He reached out, cupping Viktor’s jaw in his hand, gently rubbing his ruddy thumb under Viktor’s eyelid.

“You truly are beautiful. You know that, don’t you?” Daniil said earnestly. Viktor couldn't think of a time where he felt uglier. He’d long since gotten used to Daniil’s touches. After that first night, Daniil had gotten bolder in both his actions and his statements, rarely bothering to hide them, except at the rink.

That should have been Viktor’s safe place, but Daniil was there too, coaching him, creating a routine that was apparently a guaranteed gold. Viktor didn’t think so.

“It’s because your heart isn’t in it!” Daniil said one day when Viktor voiced his concern. “My routine is flawless. Any problems with it are because of you.”

“Vitya?” Daniil asked, pulling Viktor back into the present. Daniil chuckled as he stroked Viktor’s cheek with his thumb. “Where do you go when you get like that?”

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Viktor’s. Viktor turned away, but Daniil wasn’t easily deterred. He trailed several kisses down Viktor’s exposed neck, to his collarbone.

“Stop,” Viktor finally said.

“Alright, alright,” Daniil relented, releasing Viktor from his grip. “By the way, this came in the mail for you.”

He handed Viktor an envelope. 

“You opened it,” Viktor noted the tear at the top of the paper.

“It was from a law firm,” Daniil explained. “I had to make sure you weren’t trying to break up our new life together.”

Swallowing the bile that rose in his throat, Viktor pulled the letter out and read it.

“It’s the law firm handling my sister’s affairs,” Viktor said. “They said they sent a check with my share of her savings, but I don’t see….” He searched in the envelope, but there was no check. He turned to Daniil. “Where is it?”

“I put it away for a rainy day,” Daniil said. “It was a fair sum – enough to pay for your backlogged fees and quite a bit more besides.”

“You said you weren’t going to charge me for—”

“I know, Vitya, _I know_ ,” Daniil cut in, smiling and shaking his head at his pupil. He patted his thigh. “I’ve taken on a few other students to help fund our lifestyle, so there’s no need to worry about money.”

“Then why take the check? It’ll expire—”

“We’ll cash it before it does,” Daniil assured him.

 _He just doesn’t want me to have the money_ , Viktor thought. _So I can’t leave._

*

That night, Viktor brushed his teeth and clambered onto the couch, rolling over to face the upholstery again. As much as he hated the musty smell of the fabric, he slept better, figuring that if Daniil was still taking secret pictures of him, they wouldn’t be very good ones.

“Vitya,” Daniil called from his room. “Aren’t you getting tired of sleeping on that ratty old thing? Come here.”

“I’m fine,” Viktor called back.

“Come here.”

Viktor didn’t want to. But the tone in Daniil’s voice left an unspoken or else at the end of the demand. Dreading the night to come, Viktor rolled off the couch and sidled into Daniil’s bedroom.

“Come here,” Daniil said again, lifting and inviting arm to his student. Viktor hesitated for a moment, but the warning in Daniil’s eyes moved him the rest of the way. He crawled into the bed, allowing his head to rest on his coach’s arm.

“There, now,” Daniil whispered. “That’s much more comfortable, isn’t it?”

Viktor felt a cold hand creep underneath his pajama shirt.

“Don’t,” Viktor said.

Daniil chuckled. “I stopped this morning when you asked. This relationship is about give and take. It’s my turn to take, Vitya. Hold still….”

His cold hand felt all around Viktor’s chest, taking in every part of him with touch. When he’d had enough, Daniil’s hand felt it’s way past the waistband of Viktor’s pajama bottoms. Viktor tensed.

“Easy,” Daniil breathed as he touched him. “It’s alright. I’m going to show you how to make someone feel good.”

Adjusting Viktor’s boxer-briefs to make him more accessible, Daniil began working. In spite of himself, Viktor reacted to his coach’s actions.

“There, see? It feels good. Where’s the harm in this?”

Viktor didn’t speak, completely at odds with himself. This was wrong, and he knew it. But it felt so good. Fireworks went off in his brain. Whether they were for the pleasure or the pain, he couldn’t identify. All he could do was sit there and wait until his coach finished him off. He couldn’t even stop the guttural moan that emanated from the base of his throat.

Daniil laughed a little, his breathing heightened as well. “Very nice, Vitya. Now…” he released Viktor from his grasp and reached for his own waistband, making his own body easy to reach. “Time to give back.”

*

Viktor washed his hands until they were raw. 

But no matter how much he cleaned himself, he couldn't shake the dirty feeling from his skin.

He didn’t cry. He’d long since run out of energy for such a laborious task.

No. He needed a plan.

The check. His money. Tatiana’s money. He needed to find it. If he found the check, he could leave, get his own apartment, and forget everything that happened.

 _Your career…_ the voice in his head rose to meet his logical thinking head-on. _You’re nothing without Daniil. Just let him do what he wants – he’s not really hurting you, and he’s your ticket to your own success. Tati’s money can only get you so far. He’s willing to help you earn a living. No other coach would want you._

“Shut up,” Viktor mumbled, rubbing his temples with the heels of his hands. “Shut up, shut up.” 

He returned to Daniil’s room. His coach was snoring away contentedly, unaware that Viktor had shimmied out from his grip. Viktor lowered himself to his belly and checked under the bed for the shoebox. Maybe Daniil thought he wouldn’t look there again – it would be a good place to hide his money.

He shuffled through the pictures, sickened to see that more had been added to his own pile, most of which he’d been aware of when they were taken. No check. He returned the box to it’s original place, taking out a few of the most indecent pictures of himself, planning to rip them up and flush them down the toilet as soon as he could.

The closet? Daniil’s chest of drawers? The wooden box at the foot of his bed? Viktor rummaged through them all, but found no sign of a check made out to him. Maybe it was in the kitchen? He tried to stand up from his crouch at the foot of the bed when Daniil pounced on him.

“What are you doing?!” the older man shrieked, ramming a fist into Viktor’s temple. White stars exploded across his vision. “Why do you keep prying into things that don’t belong to you?”  
He shook Viktor angrily and then released him before rounding a kick into his protégé’s gut. Viktor doubled over, completely winded.

“Stop!” Viktor gasped, holding up a shaking hand. “Please stop! I’m sorry!”

“I’ve given you a good life here, Vitya, why can’t you just be content?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, I swear!” Viktor shouted, his voice going raw from the stress. Daniil kicked him again and he curled himself as tightly as he could, trying to shield all of his weak points at once.

As though he flipped a switched, Daniil stopped attacking. He fell to his knees and pulled Viktor up, wrapping his arms around him in a bone-crushing hug.

“Oh, you sweet, sweet boy,” he said as he stroked Viktor’s hair. “You stupid, sweet boy…. When will you learn? I know you’re worried that the check will go stale, but we’ve got a while yet before that happens. Tell you what – after practice tomorrow, we’ll go to the bank and cash it, and I’ll keep the money safe for you until you’re ready to have it. Does that sound alright to you, _lyubimyy_?”

 _No,_ Viktor thought, _I want my money now. I want to leave, I want to find a new coach._

“You’re emotionally unstable, Vitya,” Daniil whispered. “No one could blame you, after everything that has happened to you since January. But it’s affecting your performances – you let it ruin your chances at the Russian Junior Championships this last season. Money is a distraction, Vitya, one that I mean to protect you from until you can prove to the world what I know already – that you are beautiful, graceful, and deserve a life on the ice.”

Viktor stopped fighting the hug, allowing himself to be rocked back and forth. Emotionally unstable? He’d never thought of himself that way, but when he paused to examine the direction his life was going, he supposed he could see what Daniil meant. Maybe he didn’t need the money – thoughts of it had consumed him lately, and it was affecting his training.

“I understand,” he said quietly. “I'm sorry Daniil.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Vitya,” Daniil released him and placed his forehead gently on Viktor’s. “Just stop going through my things, yes? It’s a huge disrespect to your coach.”

Viktor nodded. 

Daniil patted his shoulder, “Good boy.”

His coach heaved himself to his feet and stretched, looking at the clock on his nightstand. “Well, I think I deserve an apology for waking me up at this hour, Vitya,” he said lightly, as though they were talking about what they would have for breakfast. “We’re already awake, we may as well have some fun to break the tension. Come back to bed, I want to show you a few other things that may help to make up for your misbehavior.”

*

“Vitya, what happened out there? You call that a Triple Flip?” Daniil chastised as Viktor skated up to the edge of the rink. The student accepted the water bottle from his coach and took a long drink. He’d been practicing the jumps they were planning to incorporate into his Free Program. 

He didn’t bother reminding his coach that his body ached horribly from the night before – he’d already tried several times.  
An especially tight knot had formed at the base of his spine, and no amount of stretching could relieve him of it. When he’d gone to jump, his lower back had spasmed, turning the triple into an embarrassingly shaky single.

“I know you’re better than this,” Daniil said and Viktor lowered his head. “Well, our time slot is almost over anyway. Go ahead and clear off – get some air while I set things up for Dmitry’s session.”

Viktor left the ice, slipping guards onto his blades and trudging along to the locker room. Daniil liked to keep his training times separate for each student on weekdays. Most people thought it was so he could give more one-on-one time to each of his protégés. Viktor figured it was just the easier way to take pictures without being caught. 

Dmitry was in the locker room, changing into his workout clothes. 

“Hey Viktor,” he greeted, turning to face him. His grin fell when he saw Viktor. “What happened to you?”

“What do you mean?” Viktor asked.

“You’ve got bruises all over your head and neck….” Dmitry pointed out. Viktor scanned himself in the nearest mirror. He’d forgotten about the visual reminders left by Daniil during his onslaught the previous night. He’d worn a long-sleeved shirt to cover what had been left across the rest of his body, but there was no hiding all of it.

“I fell in practice,” Viktor said quickly. 

Dmitry scoffed. “You? Falling? Since when?”

“It’s been known to happen.”

“Sure, sure,” Dmitry waved a friendly hand. “The way Daniil goes on about how talented you are, I guess I just assumed that you always had flawless practices.”

“I wish,” Viktor mumbled. Dmitry laughed, patting Viktor on the shoulder as he passed him. 

“Gotta go. See you later, Viktor.”

“Dmitry?”

“Hm?”

Viktor turned to face his rinkmate, words failing to form in his throat. What did he want to tell him? What could he tell him that wouldn’t earn him retribution from Daniil later?  
“Does Daniil seem… odd to you?”

Dmitry looked surprised by the question. “No more than usual. Why? Did something happen?”

“No, no, I just… it was something I noticed…” Viktor dropped the subject quickly, sitting on one of the benches and leaning over with difficulty, trying to reach his feet without pressing the large bruise on his abdomen where he’d been kicked twice.

“Alright,” Dmitry said slowly, watching Viktor unlace his skates with difficulty. “Well, take care, then Viktor.”

“You too, Dmitry,” Viktor said. He hadn’t meant for it to sound like a warning, but he couldn’t stop the undertone from leaking through his words. Dmitry backed out of the locker room, less jovial than he’d been when he and Viktor had started their conversation.

*

“Dmitry told me that you and he had an interesting conversation today,” Daniil said. They were in his bed, their clothing abandoned on the floor. While Daniil spoke, he ran his hands up and down Viktor’s back, tracing the well-defined muscles that had developed over years of practice. Viktor tensed at his words.

“I didn’t say anything,” Viktor insisted quickly. 

“Turn around,” Daniil instructed, and Viktor rolled over to face his coach. Daniil leaned in to give him a passionate kiss. Viktor felt his coach’s tongue prying his lips open and exploring him. When they broke apart several minutes later, Daniil pressed his hips to Viktor’s so he could feel the arousal setting in there.

“Dmiti can’t know about us,” Daniil said gently, his thumb now running over Viktor’s mouth delicately. “No one can know. Our love, our bond… it’s frowned upon by most people who cannot see past age. If they learned of what we do together, they’d send me to prison. Word would get out about you and it would be impossible for you to find more work as an ice skater. You’d be ruined and destitute, with no way of finding any prospects. I don’t want that to happen to you, Vitya. I’m the last person you have, the only one who has not turned you away for who you are. I have only ever supported you, lyubimyy.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Viktor mumbled.

“Ah Vitya, you’re so young. It’s easy to make mistakes when you don’t know what you’re doing is wrong. How could I not forgive you?” Daniil pressed another kiss on Viktor’s neck. In the same motion, he placed a hand on the back of Viktor’s head, guiding his student’s face towards his hips. Viktor wordlessly obeyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (•_•;)
> 
> lyubimyy - darling, dear
> 
> Did anyone recognize the skating costume that Daniil designed?
> 
> One of the things that initially sparked my idea for this story was an article I read about several men who had been sexually abused by their coaches. Same as with Viktor, their coaches threatened to ruin their careers as athletes if they told anyone - and it was a valid threat because coaches would often talk to each other about their student's prospects! So some of the kids even had tight-knit families who had no idea what what was going on, purely because they didn't want to hurt their chances at their dream jobs. 
> 
> So, public service announcement... if you're going through something similar, PLEASE TELL A TRUSTED FAMILY MEMBER/FRIEND/LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICER/THERAPIST/ETC. In the end, the only one who can make or break your career is you. If you're a good athlete, (or good at whatever you love) then that's all that matters. If a company/team/etc only goes by the word of one unsolicited reference, rather than by your clear passion and dedication, then they're not worth being a part of anyway.
> 
> As always, thank you very much for reading! And thank you for the lovely comments I've received - I'm glad to know that what I'm writing is believable, despite how sad that is.
> 
> =(ˆ•ㅅ•ˆ)=


	5. And I Love Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor prepares for the Junior World Championships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Mentions of non-con sexual encounters

CHAPTER FIVE – AND I LOVE HER

The hazy summer finally broke mid-October, giving way to a mild first few months of autumn. Viktor was gearing up in earnest for the Junior World Championship in March. Because he was fourteen on July 1st, the cut-off date for the season, he was still in the junior competition for one more year, even though he would be fifteen when he competed. Next year would be his debut in the senior division, and he wanted to start with a bang. He threw himself into his practice.

Viktor never left Daniil’s apartment now, unless he was at the rink, or at school. He’d never felt more alienated from others, but since Tatiana’s death, he couldn’t bring himself to get to know anyone else, fearful that they would disappoint him, or judge him for his lifestyle. Daniil was the only one who accepted him as he was. At school, he ignored his classmates until they gave up talking to him. At the rink, Daniil had been careful to rework his teaching schedule so that Viktor was the last student of the day to be trained. His time was due to start over an hour after the last student had left the ice, so all the others were gone by the time Viktor was warmed up enough to begin.

“You’re so beautiful, I can’t stand the thought of other people getting to look at you,” Daniil would say as he played with Viktor’s hair. “They’re jealous of you, they’ll steal our program if they saw it.”

 _Our program,_ thought Viktor. _As if I’ve wanted to skate to Swan Lake this whole time._

He took a deep breath. “Actually, Daniil, I have something to show you.”

“Oh?” Daniil raised an eyebrow playfully.

Viktor skated over to the CD player. He replaced the CD containing Daniil’s routines with another one he’d left nearby at the beginning of his practice. Turning up the volume, he brought the remote with him to the center of the rink. Once he was in position, he pressed [play](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aJTMn6ZydK4).

A woman’s voice cut through the silence, sweet and sad. This was one of Viktor’s favorite routines that he’d created, matched perfectly in time to ‘Un bel di vedremo’ from Madame Butterfly.

The song was full of love and despair in equal parts, so unlike the routine dampened by pure lust that Daniil had written for him. The merging of the two emotions, both so different, yet so similar, demanded equal attention from Viktor, adding complexity to the movements he’d lovingly constructed. He lost himself as he glided over the ice, content for the first time in months.

The song swelled. Viktor turned, skating backwards, waiting for just the right moment to thrust himself into the air, spinning four times before landing gracefully on the ice. A quad flip. He knew it wasn’t safe, but what in his life was safe now? He wanted so badly to win, to prove himself in the last way he could – he didn’t care about the risks anymore.

The singer’s voice faded with the symphony, and Viktor crouched in the center of the rink, soaking in the last of the silence and using it to create power in his lack of movement.

Finally, he rose and skated over to Daniil, who still stood at the edge of the rink.

“When did you have time to learn that?” his coach asked.

“I just practiced bits and pieces at a time during warm-up,” Viktor assured him. “I haven’t let it get in the way of practicing my routine. But… Daniil, I would like to skate to this at the Junior Worlds. I just… I love this routine. I want others to see it too.”

Daniil bowed his head, staring at his knobby hands.

“How could you do this to me?” he asked quietly. “You know how hard I’ve worked to make your program the best it can possibly be. And you still practiced this behind my back? Do you hate my routine that much?”

“I do like mine better,” Viktor synthesized the phrasing, but he secretly wanted to shout to the heavens that the stupid Swan Lake routine was overused and clichéd. 

The corners of Daniil’s mouth fell into a frown and Viktor was surprised to find tears in his coach’s eyes.

“Daniil…” he reached out a hand to take the older man’s shoulder.

“Viktor, your routine was terrible. It’s not your fault – you’re still so young and inexperienced. You don’t know what the judges want to see. But it was a wreck. I’m sorry, but if you skated to this, you would be laughed out of the building.”

Viktor tried not to let the agony show on his face. So he was really that bad?

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I just… I thought….”

“I know, _dorogoy_. I appreciate your enthusiasm. Next season, we’ll create a routine together, alright? I can show you what will guarantee you a win. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” Viktor said. “I would, thank you.”

“Now, enough of this nonsense,” Daniil took the remote from Viktor’s hand and walked to the CD player, restoring the Swan Lake music to its rightful place. “I admit your Quad Flip was beautiful. If you would like, maybe we can incorporate one into the pas de deux.”

“Really?” Viktor raised his head hopefully. “You’d let me do that? You don’t think it’s too dangerous?”

“There’s always a little danger in this sport,” Daniil offered. “True, your body still hadn’t fully developed, but I think if you’re passionate enough, why should I stop you?”

Viktor skated to Daniil’s place near the CD player and threw his arms around his coach.

“Thank you!” he said, barely able to contain his happiness. Finally, _finally_ , they were beginning to compromise. “You won’t regret this! Thank you!”

Daniil wrapped his arms around Viktor’s waist, laughing lightheartedly. “This is the first time in so long that you’ve come to me on your own. You make me feel young again, Vitya. I’ll do whatever makes you happy, my beautiful black swan.”

*

Viktor turned fifteen on the day the rest of the world would be celebrating Christmas. He hadn’t made a big deal out of it – Tatiana was dead, the rest of his family wouldn’t care. He intended to go to class, then head straight for the rink and practice until he couldn’t feel his feet.

Instead, he woke up when Daniil rolled over and kissed the nape of his neck.

“Happy birthday, Vitya,” he grumbled, his morning breath peeling Viktor’s fingernails. “You thought I forgot, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Viktor admitted. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Nonsense. I have a present for you, moya lyubov.”

He reached over to his bedside where a thick envelope propped against his lamp. Handing it to him, he pulled himself up to watch Viktor open it.

Viktor pulled out a generic birthday card that was just signed with Daniil’s name. When he opened it, a fair amount of rubles fell into his lap.

“Some of your inheritance,” Daniil explained with an enthusiastic grin. “It’s hardly all of it, but I thought tonight we could treat ourselves to a nice dinner together to celebrate your birthday.”

Viktor gathered the bills together. This was the money Tatiana had left him. Well, some of it. He hadn’t seen it since the day they cashed the check. He’d actually forgotten about it – Daniil supported his every need, and he didn’t go anywhere that would require him to pay his own way.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Of course,” Daniil rubbed a hand on Viktor’s thigh. “And after dinner, well, I have some other surprises for you.”

*

After Viktor’s birthday, Daniil didn’t touch him again, claiming that he wanted him to be in top form for the Junior Worlds. Instead, they would lay side-by-side, talking quietly until they fell asleep.

Despite their conversation, Viktor didn’t stop practicing his Madame Butterfly routine when Daniil was otherwise occupied. The music called to him the same way a drug might call to an addict. Even though it was horrifically choreographed, in those few minutes that he ran through the moves, he was able to unleash his emotions in a way that he couldn’t anymore off of the ice. He needed this routine like he needed to breathe. It made him feel human, if only for a brief time.

If anything came of Viktor’s horrible attempt at choreographing his own program, it was the peace that had settled between him and Daniil. They had reached an understanding, a place in which both could stand firmly as equals, and this gave Viktor the confidence he needed to begin rebuilding his life.

After long hours of searching for online records, Viktor finally found the graveyard where Tatiana was buried. It was out in the country, near his family’s home. He hadn’t been this way since he’d fled the house. Had it already been a year since that night? So much had happened in that time.

One morning, struck by an intense need to see his sister, he skipped school and boarded one of the few buses that would take him to her.

The graveyard itself was simple, yet peaceful. Viktor was glad that his parents had chosen this to be Tatiana’s final resting place. Patches of dying fog hung low over the rolling hill. In a mark of defiance against the winter, grass grew green and fresh. Bare trees scattered the area, the roots creating uneven terrain around some of the older gravestones.

He spent most of the afternoon searching each grave marker, wanting to find her, but also dreading the moment he did. The fog had disappeared and the cold sun was high overhead when he finally found her name emblazoned across granite: 

 

Tатьяна Никифоров  
16.4.83 - 2.4.02

 

“Hi Tati,” Viktor said aloud, and he was struck with the realization that he hadn’t been able to say her pet name for months. An ache formed in his chest, so deep and thick that he thought it might suck the breath from his lungs. Unexpected, hot tears spilled down his face and he sat on the grass, where he knew she would be, cold and unresponsive, feet below.

“I’m so sorry, Tati,” he cried. “I should have come here sooner. I should have spent more time with you while you were… while you were still…” he broke off in a sob, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Each cry for his sister turned to mist in the cold winter air.

“Everything seems so backwards,” he admitted to her grave. “I don’t know what to think anymore. Daniil has been so kind to me. But I still… I know it’s wrong, what we’re doing, but he’s the only one who still believes in me. He’s supported me through everything and I don’t want to betray him. I know you would want me to leave, but I… I just can’t.”

Suddenly, hot anger filled the gap in his chest. Why did he feel the need to defend his choices to his dead sister? What did she care anymore? She was gone. This was his life. He pulled himself together and stood up.

“I love you,” he said. “I’ll never stop loving you. The Junior Worlds are coming up. Cross your fingers for me, okay?”

With that, he turned on his heel and left the graveyard, feeling somehow heavier than he had before he arrived.

*

The day they were scheduled to leave for the Junior Worlds, Viktor panicked.

“I can’t do this.”

“Yes you can, Vitya,” Daniil replied lazily as he pulled a teabag from his hot water.

“I’m not ready. I should have practiced more, I should have spent more time in the rink.”

“What’s gotten into you? You’re usually so confident….” Daniil took Viktor’s shoulders, forcing the teenager to face him. “Listen to me. If you skated any more beautifully, you wouldn’t be human. This is what you’ve been training for all year. You are ready.”

Daniil hugged him. Viktor rested his head on his coach’s chest. No one hugged him like Daniil did. He felt safe. He was able to regain control of his panic, shoving it back into his stomach where it belonged.

*

The junior championships took Daniil and Viktor to Sofia, Bulgaria. It had been the first time in a while that Viktor had been abroad. In the past, he’d been accompanied by one of his parents. This time, Daniil stayed by his side, reserving them their own room that was a small walk from the championships. Only two of Viktor’s rinkmates, Katenka and Lidiya, had qualified for the Junior Worlds as well. They’d booked a room together at the hotel where most of the skaters would be staying, closer to the arena.

“Why didn’t Coach book a room there too?” Katenka asked him while they waited for Lidiya to find her luggage at the baggage claim. Daniil had wandered off to find taxis.  
Viktor shrugged, “He’s tight on money and the rates are high right now.”

“Considering how much he charges my parents, you’d think he’d be rolling in money,” Katenka grumbled.

Viktor didn’t reply. Daniil had been supporting himself and a completely dependent minor for over a year. Viktor couldn’t complain that the accommodations were less than ideal. Suddenly, he thought of the stack of photos Daniil kept of Katenka. It was better that they were in different hotels. At the very least, Daniil would be too distracted by Viktor to think about his other students.  
That was one habit Daniil still hadn’t kicked, despite Viktor’s undivided attention and admiration. Even so, he said nothing to his rinkmate. If he told Katenka, she would tell her parents. Daniil would go to prison and Viktor would be on the streets. Such a small secret, but it held the key to his entire livelihood. In any case, he’d come to understand Daniil’s desire for the photos – he didn’t hurt the people involved. He was just incredibly lonely. When Viktor focused on easing that feeling in his coach, Daniil took less pictures. They had reached a symbiotic relationship.

“Girls,” Daniil arrived just as Lidiya met them, her bag in tow. “I hailed a cab just outside and gave him your hotel address. Go ahead and get settled. We’ll meet at the arena in a few hours to look around, alright?”

“Sure,” Lidiya said, taking off toward the exit – a girl of few words.

“Bye, Coach – see you, Viktor,” Katenka waved, following her roommate.

Viktor raised a hand in farewell.

“Let’s go find our hotel,” Daniil said once the girls clambered into the taxi and took off. He eyed Viktor like a lion watches a sick gazelle. “That was a long, annoying flight. I want to enjoy some peace and quiet with you before the madness begins.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dorogoy - dear, darling  
> moya lyubov - my love
> 
> Here's the link again for the version of 'Un bel di vedremo' that Viktor choreographed his routine to - [link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aJTMn6ZydK4%22)
> 
> I decided to go with the movie version of the song because I adore Ying Huang's voice. When I listened to other singers, they all sounded so pretentious and show-offy. Ying Huang had this sweet, pure innocence about her voice while still encapsulating on her pain and sorrow. I thought that was a much better reflection of who Viktor is at this point in his life, and what he would identify with. So... there you go. (^_^)
> 
> Oh, and if you're curious, this is the Swan Lake song Daniil has choreographed his routine to - [III. Mazurka](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qWlvY0BiLs4). I think Tchaikovsky may have intended it to be the Polish Dance originally, but in all of the versions I watched online, they had Odile and Siegfried's pas de deux during this song. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Thank you all so much for the comments! You are awesome!
> 
> =(ˆ•ㅅ•ˆ)=


	6. Revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor fights back in his own meaningful way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Rape scene, homosexual slur (um, rude), other physical abuse

CHAPTER SIX – REVOLUTION

If he were being honest, Viktor wanted to go out and explore Sophia. But the moment they reached the hotel, Daniil called him to the bed, insisting they take a nap.

“Travel is not good on an old man’s constitution,” he said. “Stay with me, Vitya. Let’s rest.”

They lay together, Viktor mentally running over his routine while Daniil snored away. A few hours later, they met the girls for dinner, and then a quick tour of the ice where they would be skating the next day. They met a few of the other skaters doing the same thing, and Viktor couldn’t help but be intimidated. As much as Daniil insisted that his routine was flawless, Viktor knew it was missing something integral. No matter how much he tried to like it, he couldn't bring himself to, and it showed in his performance. Daniil insisted that Viktor was flawless, but after watching a few of his competitors practicing in the hallway, he felt like he needed to make a change, and make it fast. There was a time and place for Swan Lake’s regimented pieces, but it was not in Viktor’s program. 

*

As he expected, his Short Program lacked the enthusiasm it needed to earn him high marks. He left at the end of the first part of the competition in a solid fifth place. All the contenders were close in points, so it would be anyone’s game in the end, but Viktor knew that if he stood a chance of winning, he couldn't perform Odile and Sigfried’s pas de deux.

He spent a sleepless night wrapped in Daniil’s embrace, coming to terms with what he must do, and that it would hurt his coach deeply. But he needed to win. He had to.

The next day, Daniil escorted Katenka and Lidiya to the Ladies' Short Program. Viktor tagged along, but once the arena started filling with people, he excused himself to the bathroom.

“Lidiya is up first,” Daniil reminded him as he handed Lidiya a box of tissues. “Don't be too long or you’ll miss her.”

“I’ll be quick,” Viktor promised as he melted into the crowd of people. From his jacket, he pulled out the CD with ‘Un bel di, vedremo’ burned onto it. He found his way to the sound booth. Most of the sound people were scattered around, making sure things were ready for the Free Skate to begin. A stack of CDs sat under the main CD player. Viktor took the whole stack and hid in the corner, shuffling through the CDs until he found tomorrow’s lineup. He found the CD labeled ‘Viktor Nikiforov – Free Skate Program – Swan Lake, Act 3, No. 23: Mazurka’. He pulled it out of the lineup and replaced it with a CD simply titled ‘Viktor Nikiforov – Free Skate Program’. 

Satisfied, he returned the CDs and left to find Daniil and the girls again. Tomorrow, if he won or lost, it would all be because of him. He couldn’t rely on Daniil forever.

*

“Vitya, you look stunning,” Daniil breathed as Viktor emerged from the locker room, dressed in the velvet costumed, one side littered with jewels. Daniil hadn’t seen him in the fitted costume yet – they kept sending it back for modifications. But now it fit perfectly, and Viktor noticed several heads turning his way when the crystals on his shoulder caught the lighting at just the right angle.

“A perfect combination of Odile and Sigfried,” his coach gushed, reaching out to straighten his collar. “I’m jealous – you’ll be the center of everyone’s attention today.”

Viktor nodded, unable to speak. Nerves wracked his body, not just for the program, but for the fact he knew that his coach would not be so pleased with him after he finished his Free Skate. He only hoped Daniil would understand, and that his score would be good enough to earn some trust back.

Viktor was third in the line-up. While he waited his turn, he wandered around backstage, stretching and warming up, Daniil never far away.

“Viktor Nikiforov?” a woman with a headset and a clipboard stepped into the hall.

“Here,” Viktor replied, standing up.

“You’re up next, please go on deck.” She disappeared to find her next target.

“It’s time,” Daniil patted Viktor’s back. "Go make history, my beautiful black swan."

*

The moment Madame Butterfly’s ‘Un bel di, vedremo’ began, Viktor’s nerves disappeared. There was no going back now. He may as well enjoy himself.

Onlookers in the stands mumbled in confusion – this wasn’t Swan Lake, like the emcee had announced. Off to the side, he could see panicked sound people scrambling to find where they’d made a mistake. But Viktor Nikiforov skated as though he was expecting the change, so the music played with him.

Triple toe, double toe combination.

Perfect. In this program, he’d decided to lean heavily on the presentation score, and put all of his jumps in the first half of the song, with the exception of the quad flip, which he wanted to save for the perfect musical moment at the end, when the emotion would be at its peak. In the meantime, he moved his body to the music, portraying the despair and tenderness in Ying Huang’s voice.

_I hope you’re watching, Tati,_ he thought. _You gave me the courage to keep going for so long. The least I can do is honor your memory surprising others, giving them someone to root for. It’s like Daniil said – you will always lose the points for every jump you don’t take. I’m taking them all!_

When the song reached the swell, he set himself up and launched into the air. Quad Flip.

_Shaky landing,_ he admonished, _but I didn’t fall. I did it!_

The song was almost over. He performed a flying camel spin while the music petered out. For the ending pose, he stopped and waved his arms the way a butterfly might, the way a swan might, then brought his arms in, hands clenched tightly over his heart, his head bowed. It was the end pose of Daniil’s routine, and he hoped his coach would take it as an apology. He held the position, waiting for the world to crash around his ears.

The crowd erupted into screams. The emcee, completely bewildered by what had happened, stammered out, “L-ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Viktor Nikiforov! So sorry about the musical mix-up – that was a piece from Madame Butterfly, if I’m not much mistaken. Our error entirely, but nevertheless beautifully performed by Mr. Nikiforov!”

Viktor bowed to the judges while stuffed animals and flowers rained down on him. On his way to the kiss and cry, he grabbed a bouquet of roses, carrying them in the crook of his arm while he waved to the crowd. Then, finally unable to avoid it any longer, he searched for and found Daniil.

His coach’s face was beet red. He didn’t speak to Viktor at all as he handed him his skate guards and water. Viktor swore he heard the sound of grinding teeth. He knew he was in trouble, but it was impossible to come down from the high of his first personally-choreographed performance. When they sat at the bench, Viktor waved at the camera.

“I dedicate that performance to my sisters, Tatiana, Darya, and Irina!” he shouted at the microphones, hoping they would pick up his declaration.

He watched the large screen that depicted several close-ups of him during his routine. It was impossible to ignore the expression of pure happiness on his face – a rare sight. The screen cut to him and Daniil sitting side-by-side at the kiss-and-cry. Viktor’s face red with triumph, Daniil’s from rage. 

“Score for Viktor Nikiforov’s Free Skate is 160.70. With a combined score of 242.86 points, he is currently in first place and has broken the record for top score in the Junior Championships.”

“YES!” Viktor shouted, rising from his seat and applauding himself. He was so happy – Daniil be damned, Viktor hadn’t been wrong. He was good at choreographing his own programs, and now the whole world knew it. Watch out, senior division!

The cameras panned away as the next skater took to the ice.

Viktor and Daniil were ushered to a sitting area where cameras could occasionally find them to gauge their reactions to Viktor’s opponents. Not until the next program was halfway through did Daniil speak.

“You miserable idiot,” Daniil growled. “What have you done?”

“I may have just earned myself a place on the podium,” Viktor retorted. How could Daniil still fault him – he’d done amazingly!

“My program was solid, you backstabbing bastard!” Daniil hissed. “You would have gotten even more points with it.”

“No, I wouldn’t have,” Viktor argued back, trying not to sound hurt. “I tried it your way – I skated your short program and ended up in fifth place. My routine earned those points back. Why can’t you just admit that it was good?”

“Because you’re young and naïve, and don’t understand the way the world works.”

“Well… I guess that’s where we disagree…” Viktor said, holding his bouquet tightly for support.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the competition. As every figure skater came and went, none of them held a candle to Viktor’s score. Each time he watched them take second or third, his chest swelled with pride. With one skater left, he still held a large lead, guaranteed a spot on the podium. The skater fell several times during his routine.

“Well, that’s that,” Daniil said as the boy struggled back to his feet. “They’ll want you for the awards ceremony. Go make yourself presentable or something.”

“I look fine,” Viktor said. He handed the flowers to Daniil and stood up, following the woman with the headset to where he would enter in just a few moments to be presented with his first gold medal.

He couldn’t help it – he cried when they played the Russian national anthem. They stopped for pictures, the silver and gold medalists crowding the top podium with him – one boy from Germany, the other from Russia.

“ _Glückwunsch_ ,” the silver medalist congratulated him in German. “That was a really beautiful performance.”

“Thank you,” Viktor said. Then he returned the congratulations to the two other medalists: “ _Pozdravleniya._ ”

When the ceremony ended, Viktor couldn’t find Daniil anywhere. Katenka and Lidiya found him. They both hugged him, jumping up and down.

“Viktor, that was amazing!” Katenka squealed, holding his hands in a vice grip.

“What happened to Swan Lake?” Lidiya arched an eyebrow.

Viktor shrugged. “Last-minute change. Guess it didn’t get through to the announcers.”

“I’ve never seen you skate like that before,” Katenka said. “It’s like you came to life. Needless to say, you surprised everyone today!”

That was true music to Viktor’s ears.

“Excuse me,” an old man approached the group. He wore a dark hat and trench coat, his long hair greased back and his face molded into a permanent scowl. He held out a hand for Viktor to shake. “ _Pozdravleniya._ ”

“ _Spasibo_ ,” Viktor replied.

“My name is Yakov Feltsman. I’m a coach based in St. Petersburg – I coached the bronze medalist, Georgi Popovich. You’re one of Daniil Aleev’s students, correct?”

“I am.”

“Tell me, what was your coach thinking, letting you perform a quad?”

“He thought I was ready for it.”

Coach Yakov growled and put a hand over his eyes. “It’s idiots like him, who let their students run amok, that cause the most preventable injuries. Listen to me, you can’t keep performing quads until your body has fully developed.”

“I’ll be allowed to make quad jumps at the Nationals in December,” Viktor argued. “What difference does a few months make?”

“You’d be surprised,” Coach Yakov said. “In any case, I wanted to invite you to come by my rink some time. You seem to be at odds with your coach, and I’m looking for students to take on. If you’re interested, that is. Your win today was the proof I needed to feel sure of your abilities.”

“I… well…” Viktor stammered. Katenka and Lidiya side-eyed him, waiting to see what he would say.

Coach Yakov patted his shoulder. “I don’t need an answer right away. Just think about it, Mr. Nikiforov. Here’s my card – you can find me at the rink every weekday until eleven at night. On weekends, I’m usually there until midnight or later.”

With that, he walked away to find his student.

“Wow,” Katenka said. “Yakov Feltsman is one of the best coaches in the city. If he thinks you’re good, then it _has_ to be true.”

“Are you going to take his offer?” Lidiya asked.

Viktor didn’t know what to say. He’d never be able to pay the fees expected by someone like Yakov Feltsman. But even so, a little spark of hope raised in his chest. If nothing else came of today, affirmation of his ability as a lead figure skater would be enough for him.

*

He found Daniil sitting at the edge of the bed in their hotel room. The flowers that Viktor had given him lay on the floor, petals scattered as though they’d been thrown.

“Where were you?” Daniil demanded, looking more decrepit than ever.

“Out celebrating. The other winners invited me to dinner. I tried calling you.”

Daniil laughed bitterly. “Now that you’re a gold medalist, you’re too good for this old man. Is that it?”

“It’s not that,” Viktor said, removing his gold medal from his bag and placing it on the dresser where he could see it. “I just don’t understand why it’s such a huge deal that I switched the music. I won, didn’t I? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I wanted you to win with _my_ program!” Daniil shouted. Viktor took a step back. Daniil rarely yelled at him anymore. Even hours after the competition – had he been sitting here, stewing the entire time? “You’re _my_ student, _my_ love! What you did today was… it was unforgivable!”

“Then drop me as your student!” Viktor shouted back, finally reaching the edge of his patience. “If I’m so terrible, why do you keep me on?”

Daniil looked as though he’d been slapped. “What’s gotten into your head, Vitya? How dare you assume I would let you leave? I… I love you! I may be an old man, but you make me feel differently than anyone else in the world. I’m only mad because I thought we’d reached an understanding.”

“We had, but then I changed my mind,” Viktor said. “I can do that, you know. You don’t own me, and I _don’t_ love you—”

SMACK.

The force of Daniil’s blow sent Viktor reeling. He hit the ground and Daniil straddled him before he could recover.

“Take it back!” he shrieked, slapping Viktor again as hard as he could. Viktor grunted in pain. “Take it back!”

“Stop!” Viktor shouted, trying to push his coach’s hands away, but the older man’s weight kept him pinned. A fist collided with his stomach, knocking the wind out of him and rendering him momentarily limp.

“You’re mine,” Daniil said. “I alone have stayed by you. I don't judge you for being a fag! I let you put a quad into my program… I let you stay in my home. Hang figure skating – all I asked in return was for you to love me.”

Viktor stopped fighting and made eye contact with Daniil. So that was it. Daniil didn’t care about Viktor winning. He only wanted him to feel confident enough to skate losing performances – performances that would keep Viktor from leaving him. He’d been sabotaging him with the Swan Lake routine.

Daniil took Viktor’s stillness as a sign that he’d relented. Pinning Viktor’s hands to the floor, he leaned in to kiss him. Viktor didn’t move away, but he didn’t reciprocate. He just closed his eyes and waited for it to be over. 

But Daniil had other ideas.

He released Viktor’s hands and fumbled with the boy’s pants, trying his best to pull them down while still straddling him.

“No—” Viktor protested, but Daniil covered his mouth.

“Shh…” he whispered. “I know this win had gotten to you, but you need to remember that I am your coach. I’m older and smarter. Without me, you would be nothing.”

“Let me go!” Viktor muffled, spiking up to punch his coach, but Daniil dodged the move and took Viktor’s head in his hands, slamming it against the ground, effectively stunning him. Viktor lost control of his body, his head spinning and splitting in two a million times a second. He could do nothing except try to keep from passing out, tantalizingly close to unconsciousness, but not so much that he couldn’t feel the moment when Daniil took him.

“Vitya…” Daniil groaned as he leaned over to send a trail of kisses down Viktor’s body.

Finally, dizziness and agony overwhelmed him. Darkness grabbed hold and he didn’t try to stop it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glückwunsch – Congratulations [German]  
> Pozdravleniya – Congratulations [Russian]  
> Spasibo – Thank you [Russian]
> 
> Un bel di, vedremo from Madam Butterfly - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aJTMn6ZydK4  
> III. Mazurka - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qWlvY0BiLs4
> 
> Poor, poor Viktor. This is the first time he's really truly fought against Daniil and had it officially confirmed that he doesn't need Daniil to do well in skating. This terrifies Daniil, because he knows he's losing his victim, and does whatever he can to regain control. It's a duel of wits, and the stakes are high.
> 
> Finally, Yakov makes an appearance! Yay... wait, Yakov, come back! Ah, we'll see him again soon... ;)
> 
> As always, thank you very much for your comments! I love chatting with you guys!
> 
> =(ˆ•ㅅ•ˆ)=


	7. You've Got to Hide Your Love Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniil's attacks have laid Viktor low.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Rape scenes, rape aftermath

CHAPTER SEVEN – YOU’VE GOT TO HIDE YOUR LOVE AWAY

Viktor was too unwell to attend Katenka and Lidiya’s Free Skate the next day. Plagued by splitting headaches, he could barely get up from the floor where Daniil had left him.

He was alone, his coach having gone off to support his other students. Viktor dragged himself to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet. Not having enough energy to get to the sink, he took a few mouthfuls of water from the bathtub, draping himself over the edge. The chill of the cold bathroom tile against his chest and legs sent uncomfortable waves of shivers through him.

When he finally got too cold, he pulled himself to his feet, swaying dangerously, his muscles and lower back screaming in protest. He caught sight of his battered body in the mirror, a smattering of reds and purples against his pale skin. He wanted to throw up again.

Groaning, he returned to the main room and sank into the bed. The mattress, though hard and uncomfortable, felt like a cloud compared to the floor. Sighing in relief, he pulled the covers over himself and slept.

When he woke up, he felt a weight on top of him. Daniil. The man was fawning over him, stroking his hair and cooing in his ear. Viktor became aware that his other hand was traveling much, much lower, taking in the rest of Viktor as well. He could feel Daniil’s hips against his, warm and wrong, but still ready to repeat the previous night. He tried to scoot out of the way, but he was too weak to resist his coach. Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep again, wanting to pass out until it was over. This time, he wasn’t so lucky. He had a front-row seat to his own misery, and was painfully aware of how powerless he was to stop it.

*

“Wow, Coach Daniil wasn't kidding, Viktor. You look really sick,” Katenka said as they met at the terminal the next day. Daniil had barely been able to pull Viktor out of bed. Still wracked with headaches and muscle pains, Viktor’s legs shook with every step he took. Daniil had never been this hard on him before, not even during their more passionate nights. When Viktor switched the skating routines, something in Daniil snapped. He’d tipped the delicate balance between them, and now Daniil was trying to regain some semblance of power. 

“You should take better care of yourself,” Lidiya offered him a supportive arm, which he took gratefully. Around her neck, she wore a bronze medal. Katenka had placed fourth. “If you practice too hard without stopping, this kind of thing can catch up to you fast.”

_You don’t know the half of it,_ Viktor thought.

“Thank you,” he muttered as they guided him towards a chair. He dreaded the flight, which would have both him and Daniil sitting together. He wouldn’t be able to ignore his coach’s longing glances and discreet touches. Almost as though Daniil wanted to remind him as often as he could exactly who Viktor belonged to. 

*

When they returned to St. Petersburg, Viktor was in bed for nearly a week, overwhelmed by migraines, before Daniil took him to a clinic to have him checked for brain injuries. He used the excuse that Viktor had had a bad fall during practice. 

_This would have been Tatiana’s job,_ Viktor thought vaguely as they injected him with dye and sent him through several scans. She always seemed so excited by the prospect of looking at people's brains. He didn't see the draw.

The doctor announced that Viktor had suffered a bad concussion, but there was no internal damage that wasn’t already healing on its own. He sent him home with some painkillers and strict bed-rest orders. Daniil lovingly distributed the pills when Viktor needed them, taking advantage of the drowsiness they caused. He spent all of his free time laying next to Viktor and spouting vile comments at and about him, until Viktor began to question whether he was really awake, or if he’d died in the hotel and this was hell.

“Doctor’s orders, you can’t get back on the ice for at least three weeks,” Daniil would say. “Poor, stupid Vitya… if you’d listened to me and danced to the pas de deux, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Well, he wasn't wrong.

*

One night, while Viktor rested, Daniil entered the room in a rage, shouting so loudly that Viktor pulled a pillow over his head to block out the ringing. When Daniil finally shouted himself out, Viktor removed his removed the pillow.

“What?” he groaned.

“ _What is this?!_ ” Daniil brandished something under the teenager’s nose. Russian text swayed illegibly in Viktor’s vision, but he knew that it was Coach Yakov’s business card. “I found it in your clothes while I was doing laundry. You’re trying to leave me, you backstabbing bastard!”

“I’m not,” Viktor said simply. He hadn’t even been able to move, let alone think about Coach Yakov’s proposal.

Daniil tore the card in quarters. “Yes, you are! How many times do I have to tell you, Viktor – you need me! And I need you!”

He clambered on top of Viktor, who didn’t even have the energy to face his coach. He simply waited while Daniil pulled his clothes away and forced himself on his student. 

Actually, Viktor realized, this was funny. No, it was downright _fucking_ hilarious. In bed for weeks with a mind-numbing concussion, and it was the first time he’d been able to think with such clarity.

He had to leave. He couldn’t do this anymore. All of the excuses he’d given himself to stay, and each of them shattered at the tiniest critical reflection.

Viktor started to laugh. Sleep-deprived cackles issued from the very depths of his soul. He was so screwed up. When had he gotten this bad? He could have left so long ago, and here he was, allowing Daniil to take advantage of him whenever he wanted.

“Vitya,” Daniil moaned, reaching down to tease Viktor, until Viktor’s slaphappy body responded. He wanted to keep laughing, but his head hurt too much. He contented himself to chuckle privately while Daniil finished loudly behind him, pulling himself from Viktor with one final, disgusting grunt. The old man collapsed next to him, his breath thick with the smell of alcohol. He finally registered Viktor’s laughter.

“You liked that?” he whispered, pulling Viktor’s sweaty hair from his face with one hand and teasing with Viktor’s involuntary arousal with the other. “When you’re better, we’ll have to experiment – see if there’s anything else you didn’t know you wanted.”

“I already know,” Viktor giggled. 

Freedom. 

He wanted his freedom.

*

It took a full two months for Viktor to come back to himself. If he stayed standing for more than a few hours at a time, his head would begin throbbing. When he returned to the ice, he was limited to practicing figure eights. 

Daniil seemed to sense that he was losing Viktor, bit by bit. He started confronting him more often, and not always at home. More than once, he’d cornered him in the locker room. If Viktor refused, Daniil would hit him and threaten him. Not wanting to hurt his already weakened brain, he would instead close off his mind while Daniil ravaged his tarnished body, and think about what he planned to do once he was able to leave. 

“Get up,” Daniil said one day, buckling his trousers and pulling Viktor up from his knees. Daniil had grabbed Viktor from the locker room and hustled them both into a bathroom stall. “Dmitry asked for extra practice and he’ll be by soon – will you be able to make it home by yourself?”

Viktor wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Of course.”

“Then go, before he gets here.”

Dismissed, Viktor left the stall, spitting into the trashcan on his way out of the bathroom. 

This was it – an evening where Daniil wasn’t following him around. He pulled Coach Yakov’s card out of his pocket, pieced together with scotch tape, and read the address. Not too far. A familiar headache was already settling between his eyes, but Viktor tried to ignore it. This could be his only chance - he wasn't about to let a headache stop him. 

It didn’t take long to navigate the streets of St. Petersburg – they’d become home in the last year and a half. He pulled the door open to the Coach Yakov’s rink, half-expected it to be empty, and was taken aback to see four skaters still on the ice. He checked his watch – 9:30p.m. Wow. No one usually stayed this late at Daniil’s practices, except for rare occasions. These were true athletes.

“Viktor Nikiforov!” Coach Yakov shouted his way. He clapped a hand on his back. “I’m glad to see you finally came. Are you alright? You look a little unbalanced.”

_If only you knew._

“I would have come sooner, but I got a concussion during a bad fall,” Viktor said. “I only just have been able to get out of bed in the last week.”

“Sorry you haven’t been well,” Coach Yakov said, “but I’m glad to hear you know to take care of yourself. I don’t suppose the fall was due to a quad jump attempt?”

_Thanks for the excuse._ “Yeah.”

“What did I tell you?” Coach Yakov admonished. “Anyway, I assume by the fact that you’re here that you’ve been thinking about my offer.”

“I have,” Viktor said. “And I want you to know, I don’t have the money to pay you. My parents don’t support me and I’ve been living with Coach Daniil for over a year – he’s been coaching me without charging me.”

Coach Yakov stroked his chin. “Is that so? What a kind gesture.”

“Yes,” Viktor said simply. He was too embarrassed to admit everything involving the living situation he’d found himself in, especially to a man he didn’t know. Better for Coach Yakov to only know what he needed to know. “But I work hard, I train harder, and I know how to win.”

Coach Yakov laughed. “I do like to hear that sort of confidence in my prospective students. How about this – you come by my rink for a week and train under me. We can see if the set-up works for us and I can think of a plan for my fees.”

“I can’t do that,” Viktor said. He hated to admit it. So close, but he needed the exact right outcome for this to work. 

“Oh?”

“Coach Daniil doesn’t know I’m looking at other prospects, and he’s a little sensitive when it comes to his students. If I stop coming to practice, or stop going home, he’ll know.”

“And you want to avoid hurting his feelings?”

“Yes, very much, sir.”

“I understand,” Coach Yakov offered. “So you want a very blunt yes or no from me, right now?”

So quick and to the point - Viktor liked Coach Yakov already. “Yes, sir.”

“Then I say yes.”

“Really?!”

“I look for talent, not money, Mr. Nikiforov, and you’re as talented as they come. A few of my other students have special plans to cover their fees – I’m sure we can work something out, and I’d hate to lose you simply because you can’t afford it. I have no doubt that you’ll be earning yourself a reputation soon enough, and reputations often come with sponsorships and winner's packages.”

Viktor would have jumped up and down if he thought Coach Yakov wouldn’t be worried for his sanity. “Thank you, sir! I swear I’ll work hard!”

“I have no doubt. Now – living situation.”

Viktor’s heart plummeted. He’d forgotten. Even if Coach Yakov took him in as a student, he couldn’t expect to live with him too.

“Georgi!” Coach Yakov yelled at one of his students. Georgi Popovich, the Junior World Championship bronze medalist skated over. He nodded to Viktor before turning his attention to his coach.

“Is your brother still studying abroad?”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Do you know if your parents would mind letting Viktor stay in his old room for a while? It won’t be a permanent situation.”

“I’ll call them,” Georgi nodded and he left the ice to grab his phone. When he returned a few minutes later, he was grinning. “They told me they’d be delighted to have him, for however long he needs.”

“Excellent,” Yakov said. “That’s settled. Thank your parents for me, Georgi. Viktor, Georgi will go with you to gather your things from your coach’s home, alright?”

“No, I can do it myself,” Viktor insisted quickly.

“It’s okay – I don’t judge messy rooms,” Georgi said. Viktor wished a messy room was the problem. “And my parents can pick us up so we don’t have to drag your stuff across the city.”

“I…”

“Just let him help, boy,” Coach Yakov said. “He’s your rinkmate and the two of you are the same age – you may as well start getting to know each other.”

In the end, Viktor was not allowed to say no.

*

Viktor tried not to let Georgi see how red his face got when they stepped into Daniil’s apartment. It had been a long time since he’d looked so critically at his surroundings – everything seemed dingy and unkempt. Several lightbulbs had burned out and stains speckled the carpet so close to each other, it looked like a pattern. Empty snack bags and beer cans littered the ground and tables.

“Daniil?” Viktor called, but there was no answer. Daniil must still be at practice.

“Junior gold medalist Viktor Nikiforov lives here?” Georgi gasped.

“It’s not much,” Viktor allowed. “But I didn’t really have the luxury of being picky.”

“Why don’t you live with you parents?” Georgi asked.

“It’s… it’s complicated.”

“Sorry. Where’s your stuff?”

“Most of it is in here,” Viktor said, pointing to the bedroom. Luckily, while he’d been out of it with his concussion, Daniil had moved almost all of his belongings to the room so Viktor could use them while he healed. Now, it wouldn’t take long to pack.

While Viktor tossed his possessions on the bed, he noticed Georgi had gone quiet.

“Is something wrong?”

He followed Georgi’s gaze to the pile of clothes that belonged to Daniil. Now that he looked around the room, he could see traces of the coach, toiletries and clothing set out that were very obviously meant for a man older than Viktor.

“Did… Viktor, did you and your coach share a room?”

Viktor looked away, ignoring the question. “The stuff on the bed is mine. The suitcase in the closet is also mine. If you can grab that and start fitting everything in…?”

Georgi went to the closet and pulled out the suitcase. He tossed it onto Daniil’s side of the bed and unzipped it. When he flipped it open, a horrified gasp turned Viktor’s stomach to molten lava. 

_No, no, no…_

Pictures – more than could fit in a shoebox – had been stuffed in there. All of them of Viktor in various settings and poses. Most of them horrifyingly indecent.

“Oh my god,” Georgi breathed, looking at Viktor like he were seeing him for the first time. “ _What the hell?_ ”

Viktor pulled the suitcase toward him and grabbing handfuls of pictures and throwing them in the direction of the garbage. Only a fraction of them made it – the rest scattered across the floor in a collage of humiliation. Completely overwhelmed, Viktor stared wide-eyed at Georgi, trying to gauge his expression. 

Shock, yes. What else? 

Disgust, maybe? 

No. That wasn’t it.

It was pity.

“No one can know,” Viktor choked, trying to keep the panic from rising. “ _Please_ , Georgi. I know you don’t know me very well, but please don’t… please don't tell anyone.”

“Viktor, you’re fifteen. He should go to prison.”

“If anyone tells on him, they’ll know about me. I’m trying to make a name for myself in figure skating – I can’t have this looming over my head. I can’t have this be what people think of every time they watch me skate, or say my name. Please, please, Georgi… no one can know.”

“If… if you’re sure,” Georgi offered weakly.

“I am. I’ll be fine once we get out of here.”

A shadow darkened the door. 

“And where exactly are you going?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH SNAP, CLIFFHANGER!
> 
> Fun fact: Daniil's name was original Grigory, but then when Georgi started becoming a bigger character than anticipated, I kept getting their names confused. So, I had to change it.
> 
> This was a rough chapter for our sweet Vitya, but now he's leaving! Will that be the end of Daniil? Well... there's still quite a bit of story left, soooo...
> 
> As always, thank you for your supportive comments!!
> 
> =(ˆ•ㅅ•ˆ)=


	8. Get Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor reconnects with his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No triggers that I know of, this chapter! Let me know if I missed one!

CHAPTER EIGHT – GET BACK

Daniil stepped into the room and surveyed the scene. Georgi watched him with wide eyes while Viktor stood next to the open suitcase, dozens of photos of himself scattered across the floor.

“You’re leaving?” Daniil asked quietly.

“I am,” Viktor said, thankful that the old man was at least being civil. Perhaps it was a good idea to have Georgi there.

“After everything I’ve done for you, you’re leaving me,” Daniil said. His voice was so monotone, it was as though he were dying a little more with each word. “You worthless bastard.”

Georgi looked between Daniil and Viktor, trying to decide whether the situation they were in was dangerous or not.

“Where’s the money Tatiana left me?” Viktor asked coldly. “It’s legally mine. I want it back.”

“I spent it,” Daniil said. “Supporting your ungrateful ass.”

“Ah,” Viktor replied, unsurprised, but disappointed. “Well, then, I guess there’s no other reason to stay. Georgi, help me.”

The two boys pulled out the last of the obscene pictures from the suitcase and filled it with Viktor’s small amount of clothes and notebooks. Somehow, he thought if he went to the bathroom to get his toothbrush and shampoo, Daniil would snap. He’d have to leave those where they were and get new ones when he could afford it. The last thing he grabbed was the nearly empty prescription bottle on his bedside table, tossing it on top of everything and zipping the suitcase closed.

Georgi sidled by Daniil like a crab waiting for a seagull to strike at it. Viktor wanted Daniil to know that he was not afraid of him. Hands shaking, he took up as much space as he could with his body and suitcase, and shoved past his ex-coach. 

As he stepped into the living room, Daniil finally moved. He spun around and grabbed Viktor by the hair, yanking his head back. Viktor grunted in pain, his head throbbing, but Daniil didn’t let go. Georgi shouted and started towards them, but one look from Daniil stopped him in his tracks. 

“Now no one loves you,” the old man whispered in Viktor’s ear. Viktor tried to pull away, but Daniil held him tighter. “Mark me, you’ll end up a useless, talentless hack without a single person in the world who cares about you.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Viktor retorted. He winced as Daniil tightened his grip on his hair. _Stupid,_ he thought to himself, _you’re just making him angrier._ “Let me go.”

To his surprise, Daniil did as he was told. He shoved Viktor forward, and Georgi rushed forward to catch him.

“Always remember, Vitya,” Daniil growled, a demented smile cracking across his face. “You belonged to me first. No matter who you date, who you fuck – always remember that I was there first. You will never be able to stop that, my beautiful black swan.”

“Let’s go, Viktor,” Georgi mumbled, grabbing Viktor’s suitcase and turning Viktor’s shoulder, gently guiding him to the door. The door closed behind them with a momentous click, and Viktor took a deep breath, trying very hard not to let his emotions get the better of him. Many sensations – happiness, anger, humiliation, and, surprisingly, sadness – all battled for dominance within him. Georgi handed him a tissue, which he used to dab his eyes, his breath catching in gasps.

They stood outside the apartment, waiting for Georgi’s parents to pick them up, neither one speaking for several minutes. Viktor lowered his head in shame, allowing his hair to cover his face so Georgi couldn’t see. He’d never wanted anyone else to know what went on in Daniil’s apartment. Georgi’s presence in the apartment had stopped Daniil from physically assaulting Viktor, he was sure of that. But it had also given him a weak point – he’d used private words to strike Viktor where it hurt the most. He was right – Viktor could move out, but Daniil’s mark would always be there. He’d have to think of it every time he showered, or became intimate with someone else. He would always be trapped here, in the worst year of his life.

“He was wrong, you know,” Georgi said quietly. “You're really, really talented. I mean, you beat me in the Junior Worlds.”

“Thanks,” Viktor mumbled without turning to his companion.

“And… I won’t tell anyone,” Georgi continued. “What happened was your business. I’m just sorry you’ve had to deal with it on your own for so long.”

Viktor nodded, unable to trust himself to speak.

“But I still think you should tell someone yourself, when you’re ready.”

This time, Viktor didn’t respond. He and Georgi fell back into silence until Georgi saw his parents’ car. He hailed them over. Mr. Popovich put Viktor’s suitcase in the trunk while Mrs. Popovich surveyed the grungy street, her nose wrinkling. She looked like a female Georgi.

“You must be Viktor,” she said, turning her sharp eyes back to the teenager. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

Viktor shook her hand. “Thank you for letting me stay with you.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Mr. Popovich said, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of here – this area seems a little… unsavory.”

Viktor wholeheartedly agreed. They climbed into the car and drove away. He didn’t bother looking back.

*

“So, where’s your brother?” Viktor asked Georgi. The family had shown them around the house and helped him move his suitcase into the vacant room that once belonged to Georgi’s older brother.

“Rome,” Georgi pouted, picking at a splinter on the worn bedframe. “Lucky jerk. When he left, he said he planned on finding a beautiful girl and settling down there. Do you have any siblings?”

“Three sisters,” Viktor replied. He pulled out his stack of notebooks and stood them up on the dresser. He hadn’t realized how few clothes he had – they took up two of the four drawers available. Most of them were worn thin at the elbows and knees – add that to the list of things he’d buy when he had money.

Georgi whistled, “Three sisters? That must suck sometimes.”

“Not really,” Viktor said coolly. “One of them is dead, and I’ve never met the other two.”

“Oh. Wow. I’m… I’m sorry.”

Viktor shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, I’m being an ass. I’m just… a lot’s happened and I don’t want to talk about it.”

Georgi gave him a half smile as a way to say he understood. He stood up from the bed and stretched his arms. “Well, take some time to unpack – if you’re hungry, help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Go ahead and use my shampoo if you don’t have any. Tomorrow’s Saturday, so we’ve got a full day of practice, but afterward, we can go pick up some toiletries for you. And… well… welcome home, I guess.”

Viktor’s heart broke from the kindness of it all. He grinned at Georgi before the boy disappeared into the hallway, shutting the door quietly behind him. Finally alone, Viktor dropped onto the bed, head in his hand, and allowed himself to cry. At first, he didn’t really know why he was crying – things were better now, right? Of course they were. 

_Everything is new,_ Viktor realized. Daniil had been his last link to his old life – the life he had before he’d come out to his parents. With that link cut, he felt like his old life had finally crumbled into nothingness. Starting fresh, with almost literally nothing except the clothes on his back... it was intimidating.

_I have figure skating,_ he thought. _I have my notebooks full of ideas. That’s all I need._

He lay down in the bed without bothering to change. As his consciousness dwindled, Viktor reached a hand behind him to check for Daniil, only to remember that he was alone.

Somehow, it was liberating and isolating at the same time.

*

“Viktor, dear?” Mrs. Popovich knocked on the open bedroom door before stepping in, a mildly concerned expression planted on her face.

Viktor, who was lying on the floor, on his stomach, doing his homework, turned to look her way. 

Mrs. Popovich held up the landline phone. “A foreigner is calling for you. I told him you don’t accept phone interviews, but he asked me to tell you his name is François Desrosiers, and that you would know him…?”

Viktor bolted from his spot on the floor, pointing at the phone as he scrambled to his feet. “He’s on the line? Now?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Popovich said, slightly bewildered at Viktor’s reaction. “Do you want me to field the call?”

“No, no, I’ll take it, thank you,” Viktor said, rushing to Mrs. Popovich and accepting the receiver from her and putting it to his ear, immediately switching to French. “ _Oncle_ François? _Est-ce vous?_ ”

“Viktor, it’s so good to hear your voice!” his uncle shouted back in French, the relief clear in his voice. “Thank god, I thought I was going to have to answer another questionnaire to prove I know you!”

“I can’t believe it… how did you find out how to contact me?”

“You didn’t make it easy, I’ll tell you that! Thanks for changing your phone number a million times.”

“Yeah, well…” Viktor moved the receiver from one ear to the other and giving Mrs. Popovich a friendly wave as she retreated back downstairs, “You know… fans get one number, you have to change it.”

That wasn’t necessarily the entire truth. Though it had been over a year since Viktor managed to escape Daniil’s home, his old coach occasionally tried to contact him. Every time he found Viktor’s new number, Viktor was forced to change it or risk being harassed multiple times a day.

“I get it – you’re a big star now, huh, _mon petit chou_? I’m really proud of you.”

Viktor’s eyes stung. He hadn’t had any contact with his family since Tatiana was killed. Even though his father couldn’t possibly block all of his new phone numbers, he’d never bothered to reach out to any of them again.

“Anyway,” Uncle François continued. “We finally thought to track you through your coach, Yakov. It took a lot of convincing, but he finally gave me your number. We’ve been trying to find you for a year!”

“’We’ meaning you and _Oncle_ Maurice?” Viktor asked, perching on the edge of his bed, pulling his knees up to his chest. He’d only met his uncle’s husband a couple of times, but it had been their relationship that helped Viktor to come to terms with his own sexuality. Before then, he’d only had his father’s opinion of homosexuality to base his life on. Uncles François and Maurice were so easy around each other; it had inspired him to want the same thing for himself.

“Yes,” Uncle François said. “He’s here now. I’ll put you on speakerphone.”

The background noise went from muted to canned, signifying the change in audio settings.

“Viktor, I am so happy that we finally found you,” Uncle Maurice’s booming voice came in over the phone.

“Hi _Oncle_ Maurice,” Viktor greeted, squeezing his knees tighter. “How are you?”

His uncles laughed at the same time. Uncle François cut in; “Forget about us. How are you? Your mother told us what happened between you and your father. I am so, so sorry. We should have been there to support you. Especially you. Especially us.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Viktor said quickly. It was hard to believe that after two years of soul-crushing silence, his mother still talked about him to their family. Did she regret what happened that night? Would she want him back? After everything that had happened to him, would he even want to go back?

Uncle Maurice didn’t let him sink too far into his poisonous thoughts. “Viktor, we love you. I hope you know that.”

A silence fell over them. Viktor wanted to say more, but he didn’t know where to begin. Did he want to tell his uncles about Daniil? Or how he’d won silver at his first World Championship last season, and Skate America just a couple of weeks ago? Or how he was choreographing his own pieces? Uncle Maurice was a choreographer – he would like to hear that, probably. But as every thought popped into his head, he squashed it. He would bore them too much if he rambled on about his life.

“I…I’m assigned to skate at Trophée de France in Paris next month,” he said quietly. “Do you think I could come visit you?”

Both uncles practically exploded. 

“What?” 

“Yes!” 

“Have you booked your hotel yet?” 

“Stay with us instead!” 

“Do you have to go back right away?”

“Yeah, take a break – stay here as long as you want!”

“I – Viktor, are you okay?”

Uncles François and Maurice quieted when they heard Viktor crying. He couldn’t help it. Talking to them now was like a long drink of cool water after years of trudging through a scorching desert.

“Viktor?”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Viktor gasped. “I’m just… really happy….”

“We’re happy to talk to you too, _mon petit chou_. Now, give us your number so we don’t have to keep tracking you down – and tell us if you change it, okay?”

Viktor spent a couple of minutes trading contact information with his uncles, and then another twenty minutes finding a million ways to say goodbye, promising to keep them updated on his schedule for the Trophée de France. When he finally hung up, he leaned back against the wall and sighed. He hadn’t felt so light in forever. He wanted to go for a walk. He wanted to talk to Konstantin.

Pulling on his boots and beige peacoat, he abandoned his unfinished homework on the floor and trudged down the stairs of the Popovich household. Mr. Popovich was still at work, and Georgi had gone to a friend’s house to study for a big test, so neither were home. Mrs. Popovich, who had the day off from her job as a registered nurse, was sitting in the corner of the living room, knitting while the TV played a murder mystery show.

“Who was on the phone?” she asked as he walked by to return the phone to its jack. “And where do you think you’re going on a school night?”

“In that order: My uncles, and to see Konstantin,” Viktor replied. 

“Viktor,” Mrs. Popovich said warningly.

“I won’t stay long,” Viktor tried to appease her. He knew that Mrs. Popovich didn’t like Konstantin very much, especially their age difference – Konstantin was nine years older, at twenty-five. But Mrs. Popovich also wasn’t Viktor’s mother, so he didn’t feel guilty when he ignored her continuing protests and left the house, closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Oncle_ \- Uncle  
>  _Est-ce vous?_ – Is that you?  
>  _Mon petit chou_ – My little cabbage
> 
> Yup, Viktor's got a boyfriend. You'll get to meet that piece of work next chapter.
> 
> I realized when I was copying this over that this chapter was only 5 pages long... I usually make them 10! And then tomorrow's chapter was something crazy, like 22 chapters! So I sort of moved some of tomorrow's chapter to today... welcome to the futuuuuure! 
> 
> It's about damn time Viktor got some good stuff happening in his life! His uncles have been trying to find him after his parents _finally_ told them about Viktor being disowned. Trouble is, Viktor's been changing his number to avoid Daniil, so he's been really hard to track. But Detectives François and Maurice are on the case! *twirls mustache*
> 
> ALSO, it's cannon that Viktor is fluent in French... so my branch-off head-cannon is that his mother is French, and she moved to Russia to study ballet, met Vasily, and married him. Céleste would speak French to Viktor and Tatiana while they grew up, and they would visit their family in Paris during their summer breaks, so they're just naturally fluent. <3
> 
> Thank you all for the awesome comments! I do a little dance whenever I see one come in - it's fun to hear your thoughts!
> 
> =(ˆ•ㅅ•ˆ)=


	9. Help!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor's past comes back to haunt him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Physical and mental abuse, descriptions of past rape, thoughts of suicide

CHAPTER NINE – HELP!

A familiar jingle played as Viktor stepped into the 24-hour convenience store where Konstantin worked. His boyfriend stood behind the counter, reading one of the magazines and looking bored out of his mind. When he saw Viktor, he jerked his head in greeting.

“Hey, babe,” he said, leaning over the counter to kiss Viktor. He may not have been the most attractive person in the world, but there was something that Viktor liked about his dark hair and rebel personality. The first time they’d met, at this same convenience store, Viktor thought Konstantin looked like the type of person that would shoot first and ask questions later. It had been late when Viktor came in to buy a snack on his way home from practice, and the two talked for an hour until Konstantin’s shift ended. He’d asked Viktor out, and the rest was history.

If nothing else, Konstantin’s hulking stature and permanently angry expression kept people from bothering them too much on the streets, even if they recognized Viktor. He liked the space, and the fact that Konstantin didn’t care about his figure skating career – personally, he wasn’t sure if Konstantin knew what figure skating was. Regardless, with him, Viktor was just a regular person.

“Hi,” Viktor greeted. “So, guess what? My uncles called me from France.”

“Nice,” Konstantin went back to reading his magazine, his chin propped on his fist. “I get off in half an hour. You wanna go back to my place and bang?”

“I can’t tonight. But my uncles invited me to stay with them!”

“You’re blowing me off to visit uncles that ignored you for two years?”

“What? No, I… we’re talking about two different things, here.” Viktor shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Whatever,” Konstantin shrugged. “Hey, you got any money? I want a hot dog, but my boss said he would fire me if I take any more freebies.”

Viktor dug around in his pocket and pulled out some rubles. Konstantin exchanged them for a hot dog and a beer from the nearby fridge.

“Thanks,” he said after taking several gulps of the beer and handing the can to Viktor. Viktor hopped up on the counter and sipped lightly. They sat in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s company. No other customers ever really came into the store this late at night, and Viktor always enjoyed the quiet privacy that being here allowed him.

“So I leave in a couple weeks for the Trophée de France,” Viktor tried again after a while. “Will you be okay without me here?”

“I’ll survive,” Konstantin said and Viktor snorted. After a moment, Konstantin looked directly at Viktor, confusion and worry on his face. “You’re coming back, though, right? You’re not staying at your uncle’s place forever?”

“No,” Viktor said, spinning himself around to Konstantin’s side of the counter and letting his feet hang off the edge. “I’ve got plenty to come back here for.”

Konstantin got the message – he stepped in between Viktor’s knees and kissed him deeply. His tongue invaded Viktor’s mouth and Viktor tried not to gag at the taste of hotdogs and beer. The two of them rearranged themselves a few times before they settled comfortably, doing everything they could to kiss any part of the other’s exposed skin. With Viktor’s peacoat in the way, Konstantin’s targets were limited, but he did his best to accommodate.

“God… you’re so… hot,” Konstantin mumbled in the moments when their lips separated.

“Maybe I… I don’t really need to go… home tonight... after all...” Viktor replied and his boyfriend grinned.

“Now we’re talking,” he said, allowing his hands to travel down Viktor’s back and run over his backside.

So caught up in themselves, they didn’t notice when the jingle announced the entrance of a new patron.

“I… I don’t believe it… _Viktor?_ ”

Viktor broke away from Konstantin to look at the newcomer, embarrassed that a fan had caught him making out with a convenience store employee. Instead, his stomach plummeted.

Daniil stepped into the shop, his mouth gaping at the sight of the two of them. All at once, Viktor’s sense of reality crashed around his ears. He’d worked so hard to forget his torment he experienced at Daniil’s hands. His ex-coach’s presence in the store split everything open again, like an old wound bleeding afresh. He was rendered momentarily stunned. Daniil stared at Konstantin for a few moments as though trying to register why someone else was where he had once been in Viktor’s life. Then he turned back to Viktor, grinning and laughing.

“So you really couldn’t do better than me, could you? The great Viktor Nikiforov had to settle for acne-ridden scum because no one else could stomach being with him?”

“Who the hell is this?” Konstantin demanded angrily, probably more insulted at being called scum than anything. He didn’t seem to notice that Viktor’s face had gone paper white, or that he’d frozen in his arms.

“I’m his _ex-lover_ ,” Daniil proclaimed. The declaration jolted Viktor out of his immobile state of panic. He slid off the counter, standing closer to Konstantin, thankful that his boyfriend’s girth seemed to be keeping Daniil at bay.

“You’re nothing to me,” he said to his ex-coach. He placed a hand on Konstantin’s chest and whispered, “Can you walk me home? Now? Please?”

“You’ve fucked an old man?” Konstantin registered Daniil’s words.

“No, I – you don’t understand the whole story—”

“—Oh yes, we fucked,” Daniil cut in, staring Viktor up and down as if imagining him without his clothes. “The things he let me do to him… I doubt you’ve gotten that lucky, boy. Well, best get what you can, while you can, before he dumps you for next years’ model. Maybe he’ll aim even higher – like the garbage man, or a homeless person….”

Daniil’s words cut into Viktor like knives. Everything he’d done to try and block out what had happened, it all came spilling out, threatening to drown him. His thoughts swirled in his head, roaring in his ears. He couldn’t think straight. The only thing he knew for sure was that he had to leave immediately.

“Konstantin,” he could barely bring himself to speak louder than a whisper. “Please take me home. Please.”

“I don’t know what to say, Viktor,” Konstantin grumbled. “Honestly, I don’t think I can be with someone who’s okay with shacking up with old guys.”

“I didn’t _shack up_ with him, he… he…” but Viktor couldn’t bring himself to explain. At the store entrance, Daniil grinned even wider, clearly enjoying himself. Viktor steeled himself, “Fine.”

He stalked out from behind the counter and hurried past Daniil, keeping plenty of distance between the two of them, but Daniil didn’t move.

Once he was outside, he inhaled deeply at the night air, breaking into a fast walk and doing everything he could to sort his thoughts out before they strangled him. 

He’d been doing so well. He’d managed to get past the one-year mark of what he considered his escape. The media hadn’t found out. Georgi had kept his promise and not told anyone. He’d managed to forget about the nights where Daniil would force him to recreate his fantasies…

_No, don’t think about that. You’re letting him get to you again._

But how could he have ever hoped to get fully away from him? They worked in the same line of business. He knew Daniil had attended the same competitions as him, especially the Nationals, and he’d managed to avoid him by staying close to Yakov at all times. But living in the same city… they were bound to run into one another eventually. And within a few carefully-phrased sentences, the old man had managed to turn Viktor’s own boyfriend against him – a person he felt safe with.

Viktor stopped and crouched against a wall to catch his breath. Why did this feel so familiar?

It was just like the night he’d fled his family’s home.

Was he doomed to repeat this forever? If no one cared enough to stand by him, how could he ever think that he was worth knowing? The famous Viktor Nikiforov couldn’t even hold on to a boyfriend who worked at the convenience store and burned ants with magnifying glasses on his days off. What good was he, then?

His breaths came quicker now and he wrapped his arms around his middle, trying to stop himself from hyperventilating. 

_Don’t panic. Don’t panic._

He glanced around him to see if anyone was looking at him. Down the street, he saw Daniil walking towards him.

Standing up, he shouted, “Leave me alone!” and turned the other way. He grabbed his phone. Who would be awake now? Who could he bother with his problems? Coach Yakov? No, he’d have to explain himself. Disappointing one person in his life was enough for one night.

Uncle François? Not that he could do anything to help him from France.

The only other obvious answer Georgi. Viktor dialed his friend’s number, hoping he was still awake.

“Viktor?” Georgi asked when he picked up the phone.

“Daniil’s following me,” Viktor huffed. “He turned Konstantin against me. Can you come find me? Georgi, I’m scared.”

“Where are you?”

“I… I don't know. God, I don’t know anything anymore!”

“Calm down, calm down, Viktor. Tell me what you see. Any street signs?”

“No, I’m… I ran into… an alley.”

“What? No, get back on the main street and stay there!”

“I can’t… _he’s_ on the main street!”

Georgi sighed. “Yes, but so are other people. He can’t hurt you when they’re around.”

“It’s midnight!” Viktor shouted into the receiver. “It’s fucking midnight… and no one’s here, and he’s… he’s following me and—”

“VIKTOR!” Georgi yelled back to get his attention. “Look, call the police.”

“They’ll ask… q-questions.”

“You are being so stubborn!”

Viktor turned to look behind him. Daniil had stopped following, but was peeking down the alley, as if waiting to see what Viktor’s next move would be.

“He’s stopped. He’s just… watching me.”

“Then leave. Run. You’re an athlete. He’s an old man. You can get away.”

“I… I can’t breathe,” Viktor admitted. “I feel like… I’m made of lead. Georgi, you… have to help me, please.”

“I’m trying, Viktor, I really am. Do you want _me_ to call the police?”

“No police!” Viktor said, and he felt like his lungs would explode. He’d never experienced this before, and it terrified him. His legs shook so hard that he was forced to crouch, but he kept his eyes trained on Daniil.

“Were you at the convenience store with Konstantin?” Goergi asked.

“Yes.”

“What direction did you run?”

“…Right.”

“What was the last store you remember seeing before you turned into the alley?”

Viktor took his eyes from Daniil to think back.

“I… I think I saw a Pizza Hut, maybe…”

“You went that far? Okay, Viktor, I’ll find you. If he—”

Daniil’s shadow overtook Viktor.

“No!” he shouted as loudly as he could, but Daniil rushed forward and clamped a hand over his throat, crushing his windpipe as he forced him against a brick wall. 

“Shut up,” he commanded when Viktor let out a muffled cry, his putrid breath warming Viktor’s face. Viktor gagged. He didn’t remember Daniil smelling like this before. His ex-coach’s hair had gone almost completely gray, and the dark bags under his eyes gave him a haunted appearance. The old man had really let himself go.

As if sensing Viktor’s thoughts, Daniil leered at him, “Real looker, I’ve become, haven’t I? You did this to me, you bastard. I ought to gouge one of your pretty eyes out as payment for my pain and suffering – we’d see how much your fans like you then….”

He traced the finger of his free hand under Viktor’s eyelid as if imagining it. Viktor’s arms and legs went numb. 

Daniil withdrew his finger. “I won’t do that. You’re too pretty for permanent damage, aren’t you? Still… I do think you owe me for leading me on and ruining my life….”

He took his hand away from Viktor’s mouth and punched him. Viktor screamed and fell sideways. The phone fell from his hand and he heard a crunching sound as Daniil stepped on it. 

_Georgi… help…_

Blood poured from his nose and tongue as two more punches hit the same place before he could block them. A kick to his chest sent him sprawling.

“’lease… ‘lease don’….” Viktor uttered through a mouthful of blood.

“Don’t? Don’t what?” Daniil taunted as he stood over his cowering ex-student. He laughed cruelly. “Don’t fuck you? Is that what you mean? Please. You’re not worth my time. You’re not worth _anyone’s_ time. Not even that cretin back at the store wants you anymore. All it took was one mention of your whoring yourself out to me to break the illusion you had on him. Did you figure that if you dated someone more despicable than me, you could erase our life together? I can see in your eyes that I’m right. Well, how does it feel to know that that ugly son-of-a-bitch thinks _he_ can do better? So stop trouncing around all of the competitions, pretending that the medals around your neck make you important, because you aren’t even worthy to lick the gum off the bottom of my shoes. Do the world a favor and just disappear.”

A gob of spit hit his cheek. It ran across the bridge of his nose as he lay on his side, watching the old man walk away. Viktor didn’t move. The attacks to his chest and face hurt, but the words and the terror had snipped his emotional tendons, rendering him completely incapable of rational thought.

 _I want to die,_ he thought desperately. _Please, just let me die here. I don’t want to keep living if this hell is all I will ever be able to return to…_

Daniil was right, Viktor was worthless. It didn’t matter how many medals he won – he would still be alone at the end of the day. No one wanted him once they got to know him and what he’d done. How could he ever hope to deserve happiness when he was such a terrible person?

For hours, Viktor lay there, his body becoming cold, wracked with shivers and uncomfortable spasms. When the night began to pass, and sunlight peeked over the buildings, leaking into the alleyway, Viktor tried moving for the first time. He gritted his teeth as his body protested the attempt, but he managed to pull himself to his feet, relying heavily on the wall to keep him upright. He couldn’t straighten all the way, and so began walking like an old man, stooped over and protecting his bruised abdomen. 

When he made it to the edge of the alley, he peeked around both corners of the main street to see if Daniil had waited to ambush him again, but the old man must have gone home. The few people had risen with the sun skirted around him as he limped down the street. He kept his head bowed so his hair mostly covered his face – to be recognized now would be a nightmare-come-true.

“Viktor!” someone shouted, and a car door slammed. Georgi, disheveled and still dressed in his school uniform, ran to Viktor, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Thank god we found you. We’ve been looking all night. Are you okay? What did he do to you? Did he…?”

“No…” Viktor mumbled, his voice low and scratchy from having spent the night outside. “I’m not… worth his time… he told me….”

“Stop talking, you sound terrible,” Georgi instructed, pulling off his school blazer and dropping it on Viktor’s shoulders. “We looked all night for you. When the phone hung up, I was so scared. I heard the things he said to you – I was so afraid we wouldn’t find you in time.”

“He… crushed… my phone…”

“Viktor!” Mr. and Mrs. Popovich approached the two teenagers, leaving the car running. Mrs. Popovich pulled Viktor into a hug, and while it jarred his injuries, the closeness allowed him to pull strength from her. She ran a gentle finger across his swollen, bloodstained face. “What happened?”

“I… I got mugged on… on my way back from s-seeing K-Konstantin—” Viktor broke off as his body gave a rattling cough. The action sent a fresh wave of pain across his stomach and he groaned.

“Come on, we’re taking you to the hospital,” Mrs. Popovich said, trying to direct Viktor to the car as gently as possible, but Viktor jerked his arm away.

“I d-don’t need to—”

“—No arguments. Come on, get in the car.”

They shepherded him into the front seat to give him legroom, and Mrs. Popovich sat in the back with Georgi. Viktor nearly passed out when he saw his face in the rearview mirror. It was a swollen mass of dark purple, the worst of it on his cheek, trailing down to his jaw. Dried blood caked his nose and chin, staining his peacoat. He hoped the swelling would go down before the Trophée de France. He’d probably have to cake on makeup to hide the bruises.

When they got to the hospital, Viktor and Mrs. Popovich were ushered into a back room while Mr. Popovich and Georgi stayed in the waiting room. Viktor, who was having a difficult time breathing through his nose, leaned against Mrs. Popovich and she placed a protective arm around his shoulder. She helped him up onto the examination table and took up one of the nearby chairs. Viktor could see her jaw clenched as she watched the wall.

“Go ahead,” he whispered. 

Mrs. Popovich looked at him. “What?”

“Tell me off. I shouldn’t have left home last night. I’m sorry.”

She sighed, her shoulders relaxing. “Viktor, I’m just glad you’re alive. When Georgi called us, he sounded so panicked. None of us could reach you. All I could think of was that I should have tried harder to keep you from leaving.”

Viktor’s stomach sank. Even though she had a no-nonsense type of personality, Mrs. Popovich was one of the kindest human beings he knew. How could he have been so cruel to her? Daniil was right – he was worthless if all he could do was hurt the people he cared about the most.

“Viktor…” Mrs. Popovich continued. “What really happened last night?”

“I got mugged.”

Mrs. Popovich raised a skeptical eyebrow and then shook her head. “When Georgi called me, he was panicking. He let a few things slip…”

Viktor’s heart stopped.

Mrs. Popovich continued. “He seemed mortified when he realized what he’d let on, and refused to tell me more, but I think I’ve been able to piece together a few things for myself—”

Saved by the bell, the doctor chose that moment to walk in and begin his examination. Viktor found it hard to concentrate on what he was telling the doctor, distracted by both the numbing pain and the fear of what Mrs. Popovich knew.

“I’m going to prescribe you some pain medication and a topical cream to help the swelling go down,” the doctor said, writing out a prescription. “You’ve got a few bruised ribs and unfortunately that will only be something that gets better with rest.”

“I have a competition coming up in a few weeks,” Viktor said. “How am I supposed to practice?”

“Very carefully,” the doctor said. “If at all. I think you should spend at least a few days taking it easy. See how you feel then, and discuss with your coach if he thinks you’re ready to start practicing again.”

*

Viktor slept for the rest of the day, waking up every time he wanted to roll over, to carefully ease his stiff muscles into a new position. When he'd gotten home, Mrs. Popovich took his bloodstained clothes and attempted to salvage them. Georgi left for the rink, school already having let out for the weekend. Once the dinner hours had passed, Mrs. Popovich knocked gently on Viktor’s door.

“Viktor, Coach Yakov is here to see you.”

“What?” Viktor asked, trying to sit up and wincing as he jarred his bruised abdomen. Coach Yakov stepped into the room, wearing his signature overcoat and hat, despite the fact that the heat had been turned up to keep Viktor comfortable. Viktor tried to fix his hair, which had become a rat’s nest.

“Georgi told me you’d been attacked,” Coach Yakov said as Mrs. Popovich stepped away, closing the door behind her. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Viktor lied. 

“Georgi said you slept like a log today, and that you look like someone used your face to practice jump landings.” He paused to survey Viktor’s appearance. “He wasn’t wrong either.”

“Georgi needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.”

“Vitya,” Coach Yakov said warningly. Viktor winced. Only within the last few months had Coach Yakov begun using Viktor’s nickname. It reminded him of all the people who used to use it: His parents, Tatiana, and Daniil. All painful memories.

Coach Yakov sat on the edge of the bed and Viktor froze. The old man didn’t miss the brief look of fear that crossed his students’ face. Without a word, he pushed himself up and settled down on the chair at Viktor’s desk.

“I want to know what’s going on,” Coach Yakov said. “Georgi tells me you’ve been dating a man of questionable character, that you’re acting out against Mr. and Mrs. Popovich, skipping school, leaving at random hours of the night and not coming home for days…. Now, I’m not your father, so normally I would say it’s not my business how you decide to spend your time. But as your coach, your actions reflect on me too, especially this season, while you’re garnering attention. I know you’re a good kid – I wouldn’t coach you if you weren’t – but this is not the behavior I expect from one of my best students.”

Coach Yakov spoke evenly and with no anger in his voice, but Viktor still couldn’t bring himself to face him. His stomach boiled at the thought that Georgi spent so much of his time relaying Viktor’s life to people who didn’t need to know about it, but at the same time, he knew his coach was right.

“When I met you last year, I was so impressed with your Free Program,” Coach Yakov continued. “You put so much soul into that routine. Don’t get me wrong, you’ve been doing wonderfully since then too, but I’ve yet to see anything to that caliber. I can’t help but wonder if I’m the right coach for you – maybe you’d like to return to Coach Daniil—”

“No!” Viktor jerked his head to look at Coach Yakov, his face scrunched. “No. Please don’t send me back to him. I want to stay with you. I – you’re right, I’m not trying hard enough, but I can change, I swear, I just—”

“Calm down, Vitya, I wasn’t suggesting I wanted to get rid of you! I just thought maybe you would prefer Coach Daniil’s tutelage since you did so well under him.”

“I don’t ever want to go back to him,” Viktor said before he could stop himself. The tone of his voice caused Coach Yakov’s eyes to narrow, and he stared long and hard at Viktor, trying to put two-and-two together. Viktor couldn’t stand the gaze, and turned away again, facing the blank wall.

“Vitya, when you first came to me, I remember thinking that you seemed desperate to switch coaches. I chalked it up to eagerness at the time, but now I can’t help but wonder if something happened between you and Coach Daniil? I want you to know… if you need to talk, I promise not to judge you.”

 _He knows,_ Viktor thought, a sinking feeling growing in his heart. He curled his knees up to his chest and rubbed his arms absentmindedly. _He doesn’t know what happened, but he knows_ something _happened._

“Viktor?”

“I…” Viktor began. He took a deep breath. He didn’t _have_ to say anything. But he didn’t think he could stand Coach Yakov always watching him like he knew he was keeping secrets from him. In the end, he decided on a half-truth. “Coach Daniil… he… hit me… sometimes….”

He turned his head to see what Coach Yakov’s reaction would be. To his credit, the coach’s face didn’t change expression. He just sat there, his hands on his knees, silently calculating.

“For how long?”

“Um… maybe about six months after I moved in with him. After… after my sister died….”

“How often?”

Viktor regretted saying anything. _Too late to turn back now._

“I don’t know… it depended on how he felt. But my concussion… I didn’t fall in practice like I told you… he… smashed my head on the ground. That was the worst time…”

Coach Yakov’s face remained impassive, but his hands clenched into fists. He stood up quickly, like the thought of sitting for a second longer was too much to bear.

“Thank you for being honest with me, Vitya,” he said, and Viktor tried not to let the guilt from the missing truth crush him. “I’m sorry you had to go through what you did. Have you contacted the police?”

“No, and I don’t want to,” Viktor said.

“But—”

“It’s passed. It’s done. I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

“I understand,” Coach Yakov said. “But if there is ever a day you want to, please tell me and I will accompany you to the station.”  
Viktor didn’t know what to say. Not that he felt he could say anything, with the lump in his throat. He simply nodded and Coach Yakov seemed to understand.

“Get some more rest,” he said. “Take the week off.”

“Trophée de France is in three weeks!” Viktor argued. “I need to practice!”

“You need to heal first, or you’ll injure yourself more. Rest now and we’ll see how you feel in a week. And if I hear that you’ve left the house or acted out against Mrs. and Mr. Popovich, you will have to answer to me, understood?”

Viktor couldn’t help it – he smiled. He’d told Coach Yakov part of the truth, and nothing had changed.

“Yes, coach.”

*

Viktor didn’t always listen to Coach Yakov. 

The next day, he decided a walk to the rink would do him some good. He knew he would never actually be allowed on the ice, but he at least wanted to sit and watch his rinkmates work on their routines to get his mind off of things. What he _wasn’t_ expecting was to see Coach Yakov standing at one end of the rink, sporting a shining and swollen purple eye.

“What happened?” Viktor asked him, stupefied.

“I paid a visit to Coach Daniil,” Coach Yakov said, his arms crossed. “If he bothers you again, tell me and I’ll make sure to remind him which of us came off worse in a fist fight. Now, who said you could be here? Coach’s orders – go home and rest, or I’ll ban you from the rink for _another_ week, Trophée de France be damned!”

Viktor tried not to cry as he hugged Coach Yakov. When he turned to leave, he could have sworn he heard an involuntary sniffle coming from the old coach’s direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take no prisoners, Yakov!
> 
> Konstantin's a bit of a cliched gargoyle, imo, but I wanted him to just be kind of despicable. Not Daniil-level, of course - just enough to get the point across. Viktor's in self-sabotage mode, courtesy of Daniil's past and present psychological abuse. I think he's kind of semi-aware of this, but doesn't want to do anything to stop it, because he feels like he deserves all of the bad things that are happening to him. He's also using Konstantin to try and forget the other bad things that happened to him - kind of trying to erase one negative with another. Unfortunately, that's not the way it works, is it? :*( 
> 
> Also, side note - Viktor and Georgi go to different schools. Georgi goes to a private school, hence the blazer, while Viktor attends a nearby public school. So whenever you see mentions that Viktor doesn't really have friends at school, that's why.
> 
> The next chapter will be a lot fluffier than this one... and in one case, it will literally be fluffier (totally not dropping an obvious hint).
> 
> See you tomorrow, and as always, thank you for the comments! I love reading them!
> 
> =(ˆ•ㅅ•ˆ)=


	10. All You Need is Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor heads to France for the last Junior World Championship of his career!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: None that I know of - let me know if I missed something!!

CHAPTER TEN – ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE

The night before he was scheduled to leave for Paris, Viktor was trying to fit his skates in his suitcase when his cell phone rang. Konstantin’s picture flashed on the screen and Viktor sighed. He’d ignored his boyfriend for weeks, focusing his attention instead on healing and choreographing a new routine for the next season. But he knew he couldn’t ignore the inevitable forever. He answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Viktor? God, I thought you’d never pick up. I’m dying for some head – you want to come to my place?”

“I’m leaving for a competition tomorrow morning,” 

“What, the thing in France? That’s still happening?”

“Seeing as it’s my job, yes.”

“What’s got your panties in a bunch? Look, I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened, and I forgive you. I don’t care if you fucked that old guy. Come on, come over! You can sleep on the plane!”

Viktor hung up, his veins seething with anger. Almost immediately, the phone rang again. Viktor ignored it, but it kept ringing. After Konstantin’s third call back, Viktor picked up the phone.

“Stop calling me,” he said by way of greeting.

“Listen to me, bitch, don’t you _ever_ hang up on me again. Do you understand?”

“If you stop calling me, then I wont hang up on you,” Viktor retorted. While his boyfriend paused to work out what Viktor had said, the skater hung up again and shut his phone off. He knew he would have to deal with Konstantin sooner or later, but right now, he just wanted to focus on his trip. 

He would be seeing someone in his family for the first time since Tatiana died, and he was so excited he could barely contain it! And he hoped to continue his winning streak – he didn’t always earn gold, but he couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t at least made the podium. Even while his life fell apart at the seams, he could always rely on skating to prove to himself that he was worth something.

*

Viktor had elected to take public transit to the airport, so Mr. and Mrs. Popovich wouldn’t have to wake up early to drive him. Because Coach Yakov lived on the other side of the airport, they planned to meet each other there.

It was so early, the sun hadn’t even come up yet. Viktor groaned as he rolled out of his warm bed, and climbed into some comfortable travel clothes. After a quick breakfast, he grabbed his suitcase and left the house.

After an unexciting flight, Viktor and Coach Yakov landed in Paris. When they got through customs and reached the pick-up area, he scanned the crowd.

“Viktor!” Uncle François shouted, waving his arms to get his nephew’s attention. Viktor left his bag with Coach Yakov and ran towards his uncle.

“ _Oncle_ François!” Viktor shouted, launching himself into Uncle François’ arms. Uncle François swung him around, laughing a little as he did so. When they broke apart, Viktor saw tears in his eyes. He had dark hair that he kept neatly parted to the side, and wore baggy sweaters in a style that Viktor wanted so badly to imitate. He always thought his mom’s side of the family was ridiculously attractive, and hated that he hadn’t inherited more of their traits. 

“What happened?” he asked, his thick, dark eyebrows clenching together with worry. Uncle François reached a gentle hand to Viktor’s face, where green-tinged lumps remained from Daniil’s assault.

“I was mugged a few weeks ago,” Viktor lied, using his tried-and-true excuse for his injuries.

“Ah, _mon petite chou_ …” Uncle François said. He pressed his forehead to Viktor’s. “I’m sorry. You’ve had such a hard time. I’m so, _so_ happy you’ve let me back into your life.”

“Vitya, we need to go to baggage claim,” Coach Yakov said, finally having caught up with his student. He reached out a hand and shook Uncle François’. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” he said in English.

“And you,” Uncle François replied in the same language. “Thank you for taking such good care of my nephew when his family failed him.”

“Except for the bruises. I think you could have done without those,” Uncle Maurice joined the group, handing Viktor and Coach Yakov cups of coffee that he’d bought for them. Uncle Maurice was on the burlier, tall side, also with dark, curly hair and a neatly-trimmed beard. Viktor paid close attention to the way he stood next to Uncle François, with one arm secured around his husband’s waist. The sight of it filled Viktor with so much affection that he almost spilled his coffee as he leapt into Uncle Maurice’s arms.

“ _Bonjour_ , Viktor,” Uncle Maurice laughed as he kissed the top of Viktor’s head. “Welcome home. Let’s go – everyone is excited to see you!”

While Uncle François left to get the car, Uncle Maurice accompanied Viktor and Coach Yakov to the baggage claim, chattering with Viktor the entire time. For his part, Coach Yakov stayed mostly silent, sipping his coffee and enjoying the way his students’ face had lit up in a way he’d never seen before. While Coach Yakov had booked a hotel room near the arena, he’d accepted the Desrosiers’ invitation to have dinner with them before turning in.

As they drove, Viktor kept staring out the window. When he was little, he and Tatiana had been sent to Paris every summer to visit their family for a few months. He remembered running along these streets with Tatiana, laughing and practicing their French. To see it now, when his life was so different… it was a surreal experience. Everything looked the same, but Viktor felt completely different – a stranger to his own memories. 

His family lived in one of the cheapest part of the city, near a large flea market that was always guaranteed to sell the strangest knick-knacks. The buildings were all low-rise, with graffiti scrawled across their exteriors. Finally, Uncle François parked on the street outside of a small apartment complex.

“What happened to the house?” Viktor asked, confused – his family’s house was still several blocks away.

“We had to downgrade,” Uncle François explained. “Your parents needed help with… well, with Tatiana’s funeral and of course Maman and Papa wouldn’t hear of _not_ sending them money, even if it meant we’d need to find a cheaper place to hunker down. It’s not as nice, I’ll admit, but I think you’ll like it. Papa has picked up interior decorating now that’s he’s retired and bored out of his mind.”

They clambered outside, taking Viktor and Coach Yakov’s luggage with them. 

“Number 304,” Uncle François called ahead to Viktor, but as soon as he reached that door, it swung open and a short, thin old woman with short gray hair stepped out, her arms outstretched, and a huge grin gracing her bright face. Despite the fact that she was a head shorter than him, she yanked Viktor into a bone-crushing hug.

“Viktor, oh Viktor, my beautiful, beautiful boy!” she shouted, half laughing, half crying. “I’ve missed you so much – what happened to your face? Oh, come inside, I’ll get something to help the swelling go down.”

“I’ve got some cream for it,” Viktor said, but his grandmother waved a hand at him.

“Nonsense, nonsense, come in, _mon bébé_ , come in! Have you eaten yet? François, where is his luggage? Did you remember to buy wine? Ah, good! Come in, come in Viktor!”

She retreated back into the apartment. Viktor turned to look at Coach Yakov, who looked like a bomb had just gone off in his face.

“Did a hurricane just sweep through?” he asked in Russian so Uncles François and Maurice wouldn’t understand.

“She’s excitable,” Viktor explained, grinning apologetically.

“I couldn't understand a word she said,” Coach Yakov grumbled.

“They can speak English,” Viktor said. “But I can translate any French for you.”

They were ushered inside, where Viktor’s grandmother turned her attention to Coach Yakov. She kissed his cheeks, leaving him more flustered than Viktor had ever seen him. His grandfather joined them, shaking hands with Coach Yakov and giving Viktor a hug.

“Welcome home, _fils_ ,” he said, patting Viktor’s head as they parted. His grandfather had once been a military man, but his hard edges had been worn down by the years. Burdened with regular strokes and heart attacks, he couldn’t get around as often as he used to. It didn’t stop the affectionate, lopsided smile from creeping across his face as he surveyed his only grandson.  
Viktor sniffed and rubbed his eyes. His grandmother suddenly remembered his face.

“Ah yes!” she said. “Maurice, take Viktor’s luggage to the guest room. I have a steak somewhere here that you can put on the bruises.”

“Mémé, I’m _fine_!” Viktor said, exasperated. “The bruising is a few weeks old, putting meat on it isn’t going to help!”

“It’s quite a lump,” Pépé commented, as if he were slightly impressed. “What did you do?”

“I got mugged on my way home a few weeks ago,” Viktor explained. Unfortunately, his grandmother heard and zeroed in on the new topic.

“ _Mugged_? Oh Viktor, you poor thing! Did they take anything? Were you hurt too badly?”

“Just my dignity, mostly,” Viktor admitted. Coach Yakov cleared his throat at Viktor’s lie, but Viktor ignored him.  
Mémé ushered them into the small dining area. The table had already been laid out with more food than Viktor thought was necessary for six people. They were sat down, handed plates, and invited to dig in.

“Don’t overeat,” Coach Yakov reminded Viktor, who was just about to plop his third spoonful of mashed potatoes on the plate. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

“Oh, yes, your performance,” Mémé said. Now that they’d gotten the greeting and everyone had something to eat, she had calmed down. “Maurice managed to get some tickets for us, so we’re going to get to watch you!”

“Really?” Viktor asked. “Which day?”

“The Men’s Free Skate, I think it’s called?” Uncle François interjected.

“That’s the better one,” Coach Yakov complimented. “Viktor’s choreography for it is the best I’ve seen in a long time.”

Viktor tried not to blush. Usually Coach Yakov phrased his compliments in a backhanded, constructively criticizing way. Outright praise was few and far between. 

“So what’s this I hear about you choreographing your own work?” Uncle Maurice asked as he popped an olive into his mouth. He was a choreographer for the Opéra national de Paris, and Viktor had been excited to ask him for advice on a few new pieces he’d been putting together. Viktor told him all about his notebooks full of ideas, how he did his best to match his moves to the music, and how each piece was slightly different, usually something he wasn’t fully comfortable performing, but that it surprised the audiences.

“Any old choreographer can put together a routine,” Uncle Maurice said, “but it takes a true artist to understand how to bring it to life. Good for you, Viktor.”

Viktor beamed. He glanced around the room, his heart so full of happiness he thought it might make him sick. He’d missed this more than he realized – the chance to sit with family, to talk with them, to share his accomplishments and receive unequivocal encouragement.

He looked around the small dining room, noticing several pictures on the walls and propped up on bookshelves. One stuck out at him in particular. He stood up and walked to it, running a finger along the frame.

“Ah,” Mémé said. “Yes. That’s…”

“Mama,” Viktor said. “Papa.”

The picture must have been new. He and Tatiana weren’t in it, but his twin sisters, whom he had never met, each occupied one of their parents’ laps. They were getting so big, with matching dresses and their hair pulled up into pigtails. What caught Viktor’s eye, though, was another infant resting in a bassinet at the front of the group.

“Whose baby is that?” he asked, pointing it out to his grandmother. Her face fell and a look of pity passed over her features.

“She’s your sister,” Mémé explained. “They had her last April.”

Another sister. Another notch added to a life Viktor would never know.

“What’s her name?” 

The room had gone silent and sad. 

“Yelena,” Uncle François said quietly. “Viktor… you didn’t know?”

“No,” Viktor said. “I… I don’t talk to them. I haven’t in years.”

“ _Brûle en enfer,_ Céleste.” Uncle François slammed his fist on the table, making all the occupants jump.

“François,” Mémé warned.

“No, Maman!” Uncle François argued back. “How can we let them do this to Viktor? Just because he’s gay? _I’m_ gay, and they’ve _never_ done or said anything against me. Vasily even went drinking with Maurice! Why are they targeting Viktor? He’s their son!”

“I know why,” Viktor said. They’d switched to French a while ago, and he kept it that way, even though Coach Yakov looked confused. This was a private family matter. “It’s because being gay is the way you’ve always been to them, _Oncle_ François. But for me… they were used to thinking of me as straight, and then I… I failed their expectations.”

“Don’t you dare,” Uncle François jabbed a finger at Viktor. “Don’t you _dare_ blame yourself for your parents’ shortcomings. Whatever problems they have, it’s because they are shortsighted idiots who can’t recognize the wonderful thing they lost. It’s not because of you, and don’t you _ever_ think that it is!”

By now, tears were spilling down Viktor’s face. He hadn’t expected to ruin their reunion by crying and complaining about how lonely he’d been. He’d just wanted a dinner like they’d had when he was younger. But now an uncomfortable pain had settled among them.

Coach Yakov stood quietly. “I think it’s time I find my hotel,” he announced.

“I can drive you,” Uncle Maurice offered, standing up, clearly wanting to leave as well, but Coach Yakov ushered him down.

“Thank you, but I can hail a cab,” he said. He nodded to Viktor’s grandparents. “Thank you very much for the meal. It was a pleasure meeting you. I look forward to seeing you again at the Free Skate. Vitya, may I speak with you in the hallway for a moment, please?”

All too eager to leave the dining room, Viktor followed Coach Yakov into the entryway, wiping his eyes.

“Are you alright?” Coach Yakov asked immediately in quiet Russian. Viktor nodded, watching his feet. Coach Yakov grabbed his shoulder and shook it heartily – his way of giving Viktor strength. “I don’t know exactly what you were talking about back there, but I have an idea. It’s a conversation you need to have, Viktor. You need to be with your family, and work things out with them. For your own health, don’t avoid it.”

“…Yes, Coach,” Viktor mumbled.

Coach Yakov patted his back. “The Short Program isn’t until the day after tomorrow, but come by the arena at noon and we’ll test the ice for a bit and work out any last-minute kinks in the choreography.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t forget to sleep.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Vitya,” Coach Yakov warned. Viktor looked up at him. Coach Yakov stared at him unblinkingly, more serious than Viktor had ever seen him. “Don’t shut anyone out. No matter what happens, know that you are loved by a great many people.”

“ _S-spasibo_ ,” Viktor choked out. Coach Yakov grabbed his luggage and left the apartment quietly. Viktor took a moment to suppress the urge to run to the guest room and lock the door. Instead, he took a deep breath and went back into the dining room to face his family.

*

Viktor groaned and rolled over in his bed. He reached behind him to check for Daniil, but then remembered where he was, and his eyes shot open. It had been a while since he’d done that – he’d noticed he tended to reach out for Daniil when he went to bed stressed.

The conversation with his family hadn’t been unpleasant, but very sad and tear-filled. Viktor told them about the night he came out to his parents, and how Tatiana had been his only lifeline until she died. He explained to them that he’d stayed with his ex-coach, but didn’t go into many details. They filled him in on everything that had been happening with his sisters. Viktor knew, just by the descriptions of their personalities, that Tatiana would have been head-over-heels in love with them. He wished she were there with them.

They switched to happier topics afterwards, talking about Viktor’s mounting success as a figure skater, and how he was making a name for himself in Russia. The happiness he felt when his family expressed pride in him was more than he could handle and he broke down crying. Mémé pulled him into a hug, rocking back and forth for several minutes until he calmed down.  
They’d all decided to go to bed after that. Viktor was emotionally drained and jetlagged – not a good combination. He slept like the dead. 

There was a knock at his door.

“Come in,” he called sleepily. Uncles François and Maurice flooded into the room, grins plastered on their faces.

“What?” Viktor asked suspiciously, sitting up.

“We’ve been talking all night, and we decided we wanted to get you a present. Here.” Uncle François passed him a chocolate croissant and a mug of hot chocolate sprinkled with peppermint flakes. 

“Thanks… is this the present?” Viktor asked.

“No, that’s breakfast. Eat up and get ready. We want to head out soon, so we can get there before we take you to practice.”

*

Viktor had no idea what his uncles had planned until they parked outside of a long, low building. It took a moment for Viktor’s drowsy brain to read the French sign, but as soon as he did, he was instantly awake.

“Are you serious?” he asked, leaning forward in the back seat so he could check his uncles’ faces for any sign of a joke.

“Absolutely serious,” Uncle François said. “I want you to know, we would love for you to come live with us here, but we understand that you’re building a life for yourself in Russia. Since we can’t be there for you all the time, we want to make sure we send you home with someone who can.”

The sign read _Fourrière animale_ – Animal Welfare.

“You’re getting me a dog?” Viktor asked as they climbed out of the car. “But… how am I going to get it back to Russia? I live with a family – I don’t know if they would allow a dog. How will I have time to take care of it?”

“So many questions,” Uncle Maurice teased, putting one arm around Viktor’s shoulder and placing his other hand in Uncle François’. “Don’t you worry about a thing. You forget, we’ve talked with your host family before. We called them again last night and worked out the details – they’re more than fine with letting you keep a dog. In fact, Mrs. Popovich said she thought it would be a wonderful way to keep your stress levels down.”

“As far as how to get the dog to Russia,” Uncle François cut in, “we’ll have to keep him for a while to get his shots and papers in order. He may need to be quarantined for a while, but one of us will make sure that he gets to you. But like we said, don’t worry about that now. First, you have to pick him out!”

There were so many dogs, Viktor had a hard time knowing which one to look at first. He was so excited – the prospect of having a pet was something he’d never considered before.

The staff was very kind and let him remove several dogs from their kennels and take them for short walks to see how he got along with them. He felt like he’d been on a million walks when he put one of the dogs back into its kennel.

“I wish I could get them all,” he said to his uncles, who laughed.

“Save that for when you’re _really_ rich and famous!” Uncle Maurice said. “We can only afford one right now!”

Viktor grinned and scanned the rest of the kennels for any dogs he may have missed.

“What about that one?” he asked the staff. She walked over to see which dog he was pointing at. It was a skinny poodle with unruly fur. It lay on its side, watching Viktor with a wary, mistrusting gaze.

The staff woman’s shoulders slumped. “We call her Agité. She’s probably about a year old. We picked her up off of the streets when she was a puppy – she’d been abused, and doesn’t trust very many people because of it. We have a no-kill policy, so… she she’s been here for a long time.”

“Is she dangerous? May I go in?” Viktor asked. The woman nodded and unlocked the gate, allowing enough space for Viktor to sidle into the cell. When the gate opened, the dog perched its head up warily. She didn’t growl, but she was obviously uncomfortable. Viktor immediately crouched down, trying very hard not to seem threatening.

“It’s okay,” he cooed quietly in Russian, his words only for the sweet dog in front of him. He held out the back of his hand for the dog to sniff. “I know it’s scary to meet strangers. You’ve been through a lot. I have too. I understand what it’s like to not trust people. We’re horrible creatures, aren’t we?”

Agité watched him unblinkingly. When she sniffed his hand a second time, Viktor decided to try to run the back of his hand across her paw. She jerked back.

“It’s okay,” Viktor said again. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Try giving her these,” the woman stuffed a couple treats through the fence. Viktor held one out and Agité sniffed it eagerly. She took the end of it and crunched down. Viktor held out the second treat and she took it without pause. While she ate, Viktor reached out to her again.

“Careful,” the woman warned, but Viktor placed a couple of wary fingers on Agité’s paw. She froze a little, but then leaned in and licked the treat crumbs from his fingers. He ran his hand through the fur on her face, rubbing her cheek gently. When he figured he’d better stop testing his luck, he pulled away and scooted to the other side of the kennel, leaning his back against the wall.

“What do you think?” Uncle François asked warily.

Before Viktor could reply, Agité rose from her spot on the ground and walked over to him. She gazed at him dolefully and then dropped her head into his lap. He stroked her oily fur, not caring at all about the drool stains she left on his pants.

“She’s wonderful,” Viktor said. “May I get her, please?”

The woman broke into a smile, “I’m so happy she’s finally found someone she trusts. How on earth did you do that?”

“I understand her,” Viktor explained quietly. “And I think she knows it.”

Viktor was ushered out of the kennel, leaving Agité behind while they filled out the paperwork. 

“Dog’s name – you probably want to change that – ‘Agité’s’ not a very lucky thing to call a dog permanently,” the woman said, tapping her pen at the empty box where the dog’s name would go.

Viktor thought for a moment. “Maybe… Makkachin?”

“Does that mean something in Russian?” Uncle Maurice asked, but Viktor shook his head.

“It doesn’t mean anything as far as I know. I just like the sound of it.”

“Makkachin,” the woman repeated, writing down the name and checking the spelling with Viktor before finishing up the paperwork. When they were finally done, they bought a few supplies for Viktor’s new pet and the woman brought Makkachin out, handing the leash to Viktor. Makkachin leaned against his leg, clearly upset that she’d been left behind, even briefly. He patted her head.

“You need a bath,” he told her.

“We’ll take care of that while you’re at practice,” Uncle François said. Viktor rushed forward and pulled his uncles into a hug.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice muffled from his mouth being buried in their shoulders. “You don't know what this means to me. Thank you.”

“Of course, _mon petite chou_ ,” Uncle François said, playfully running his hands through Viktor’s hair. “I’m so glad you’re happy. We love you. Please never forget that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mon bébé – my baby [French]  
> Brûle en enfer – Burn in Hell [French]  
> Spasibo – Thank you [Russian]  
> Fourrière animale – Animal Welfare [French]  
> mon petite chou – My little cabbage [French]
> 
> Yay, Makkachin is in the picture now! I thought it would be cute if she'd been a gift from his uncles.
> 
> =(ˆ•ㅅ•ˆ)=


	11. If I Needed Someone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Month.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: BAD WORDS *gasp**covers ears*

CHAPTER ELEVEN – IF I NEEDED SOMEONE

Viktor took an easy lead at the Trophée de France Men’s Short Program, and was encouraged by his family’s presence at the Free Skate. He ended up winning with a considerable lead, simultaneously guaranteeing himself a spot in the Grand Prix Final. After a night of celebration, Viktor retreated to his room to pack his things while Makkachin watched from the bed. She seemed to sense Viktor’s dread, and whined occasionally. She would have to stay behind while Viktor went back to Russia – at least until his family got together the papers to send her over. He hoped it wouldn’t take long. Now that she was in his life, he didn’t think he could stand being apart from her.

But that wasn’t all that was bothering him.

Being in Paris had been like a dream, and he felt that by returning to Russia, he was subjecting himself to the nightmares that had plagued him for several years. Viktor checked his phone, counting the number of calls he’d ignored from Konstantin. And being in a city where the chance of running into Daniil was practically nonexistent… he’d forgotten what it was like to not fear turning around every corner. Why was it so important to go back to that?

There was a soft knock at his door, and his grandmother stepped in. She looked sadly at Viktor’s belongings, which were scattered across the floor.

“What’s wrong, _mon bébé_?” she asked when she noticed Viktor staring off into space.

“I… I don't want to go back to Russia…” he admitted. Mémé ambled over to his bed, lowering herself next to Makkachin and stroking the poodle’s fur.

“Why not?”

“I… so many bad things have happened and I just… I’ve been so happy here, with all of you. With my family. Things haven’t felt this normal in so long, I’d forgotten…. I don’t know what’s waiting for me back in Russia.”

“Viktor, if you want to stay in France, you always have a place here,” Mémé said. Then she smiled knowingly at Viktor. “Yet knowing that, you still look unsure. Be honest with yourself, dear. Even with the chance to stay here, why are you returning?”

“Because…” Viktor scrambled to compile his thoughts. “Because I love skating and I love being Coach Yakov’s student. Staying here would mean I’d have to start again with a different coach. I want to skate – and to do well, I have to go back to St. Petersburg.”

“You have grown so mature,” Mémé ran a hand through Viktor’s hair. “I remember when you were just a child, following your sister around everywhere. But now you’re growing up, practically raising yourself, and I couldn’t be prouder of you.”

Mémé ran a palm across her eyes to wipe away the tears. She reached out a hand, beckoning Viktor to scoot over and lean against her legs. She rubbed his hairline.

“You always have a place here, _mon bébé_ , whether permanently, or just to visit. No matter how far away you are, always remember that you aren’t alone anymore.”

*

Viktor didn’t expect the goodbyes to be so hard. Everyone teared up as he hugged them, patting his shoulder and giving him words of encouragement. Uncles François and Maurice drove him and Coach Yakov to the airport, giving them one final goodbye hug before driving away.

“You have a wonderful family,” Coach Yakov said as they watched the uncles’ car disappear into traffic.

“Most of them,” Viktor said, walking into the airport, dragging his luggage behind him. The honeymoon period was over – he’d allowed himself the luxury of ignoring his problems while he was here, but he couldn’t afford to do that anymore.

The flight back was uneventful, and Coach Yakov dropped him off at the Popovich household. Mrs. Popovich hugged him tightly.

“Congratulations, Viktor!” she said. “The Grand Prix Final! At your age!”

“Congratulations,” Georgi shook his hand. He hadn’t made the cut this year. “I’ll catch up to you.”

“I look forward to it,” Viktor grinned. “Mrs. Popovich, can I speak with you and Mr. Popovich for a moment?”

The two of them exchanged surprised glances. “Of course.”

Viktor took a deep breath. “I’m thinking of renting my own apartment.”

Whatever they’d expected him to say, that hadn’t been it. Both stared unblinkingly at him.

“I am so grateful to you for letting me stay here, and for being so supportive, but I can’t always rely on your kindness. If I win the Grand Prix Final, and the Worlds, I’ll save up enough money between the winnings and my sponsorships to afford a place downtown for me and Makkachin. I need to start moving forward and this first step feels right.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Mrs. Popovich croaked. “We’ll miss having you, but… I’m glad you’re feeling ready to move forward.”

“Me too,” Mr. Popovich said. “But you’re always welcome to stay with us, whenever you need to.”

“Thank you,” Viktor said. “For everything. You’ve been a family to me when I didn’t have one.”

He hoped they realized how much he meant it.

*

Spurred on by his win at the Trophée de France, Viktor spent every waking hour at the skating rink, either practicing, or doing his homework on one of the benches while Coach Yakov focused on his other students.

When December hit, the weather went white – a blanket of snow covered the ground and didn’t let up. Viktor came down with a cold and was laid up for a week, which was terrible timing, considering the fact that he had both the Grand Prix Final and Russian Nationals to worry about.

His cold mostly cleared by the time he was supposed to leave for Tokyo, where the Grand Prix Final would be held. On the morning he was meant to leave, he stuffed a Japanese translation guide into his bag, waved goodbye to the Popoviches, and headed to the bus stop. When he saw who was already there, his stopped dead.

“Babe,” Konstantin said coldly, his hands in his pockets, dark hair spilling out from under his black hoodie. Viktor couldn’t breathe – he hadn’t spoken to Konstantin since he hung up on him in October. He’d hoped his boyfriend would take the hint and assume their relationship had ended, but he still had to ignore a lot of calls.

“Konstantin,” Viktor replied, not sure whether to ditch his bag and run for the hills or to stay. Konstantin made up his mind for him, trudging through two feet of snow, stopping in front of Viktor, and pushing a stray lock of hair behind Viktor’s ear.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I…” Viktor didn’t know what to say. He wanted to shout something sarcastic like _how long did it take you to figure that out?_ But he figured he didn’t need to test his luck. “I’ve been… busy….”

“So I see, ‘National Hero’,” Konstantin wrinkled his nose at the title, like he couldn’t think of anyone less deserving of it. “You’re all over the magazines and newspapers that I have to sell. Do you know how it feels to sell articles about your boyfriend to everyone, and realize that they probably know more about him than you? I’ll tell you how it feels. It sucks. And I’m pissed.”

“I’m sorry,” Viktor said. “I… I should have called you back. I just… a lot was going on in my head, and I needed time to sort it out.”

“Whatever,” Konstantin shrugged. “You’re such a drama queen. I’ll let you make it up to me. Let’s go grab some food – your treat – then head back to my place and fuck for a while.”

“I’m leaving for Tokyo,” Viktor told him. “I have another—”

“Competition, yeah, shocker,” Konstantin seethed. “You know what? Fuck you. We’re done. You don’t know how to make anyone happy except yourself.”

Viktor laughed. “Happy? Me? Has your head been up your ass the entire time we’ve dated? All we’ve done since we started dating is eat and have sex and then have more sex, and then eat again. Talk about not knowing how to make someone happy.”

“Fuck you,” Konstantin said again. “If you’re not happy, that’s your own ugly-ass fault. You prance around like a fucking fairy, pretending you’re better than everyone else just because you’ve won some cheap plastic medals. I’ve got some news for you, princess – you weren’t even that good in bed. That old man was right – you’re a fucking tease. You should come with a warning label.”

“If that’s all you have to say, then I’ve got a plane to catch,” Viktor glared at the person that was quickly becoming his ex. Fury raced in his veins, blocking the sound from his ears.

Konstantin flipped him off. “Have fun in Tokyo, bitch. Don't get confused for Godzilla when you're there.”

*

“What’s wrong with you?” Coach Yakov asked as he met Viktor at the airport check-in.

“Nothing. I’m just peachy,” Viktor grumbled, practically throwing his passport at the poor lady behind the counter. He needed a week in a different country, though he wished he were going to France again. The European Championships in January were going to be in Lyon, but it was too far away for his family to travel to see him, and he would need to pass the Russian Nationals first.

Viktor stayed mostly silent for the entire trip, stewing in his anger, much to Coach Yakov’s annoyance. When they landed in Tokyo, he found a crowd of people waiting to welcome him. Both he and Coach Yakov stopped, shocked. He’d come to expect media presence in Russia, but this was the first time he’d garnered international attention.

“Smile, Vitya,” Coach Yakov nudged him, but he couldn’t think of a time he felt less like smiling. He walked by the crowd of people, who were all holding out pictures of him, pushing aside a picture held by a slightly pudgy, bespeckled Japanese boy. The boy’s face fell, but Viktor just ignored it and walked toward the baggage claim, hoping they wouldn’t follow him. Thankfully, the only one who caught up with him was a very disgruntled Coach Yakov.

“It’s not like you to ignore your fans, Vitya,” he said quietly.

“Who knows what’s like me or not? Apparently, I’m the worst human being to ever exist. I may as well start setting up that expectation,” Viktor snapped. Coach Yakov didn’t reply right away.

“What happened? Did Coach Daniil find you again?”

“My boyfriend broke up with me. _He_ broke up with _me_! He’s one of the most ridiculous people I’ve ever met and somehow he felt like the righteous one when he dumped me.”

“I’m sorry you’re having a bad day,” Coach Yakov said. “But you need to focus. This is the Grand Prix Final, not some schoolboy competition. If it helps, redirect your energy towards your routines. You’ll show them all by winning.”

“Win or lose, the only one who seems to care is you,” Viktor said. He spotted his bag and pulled it off of the conveyor belt. “I’ll go claim a cab,” he grumbled, storming off, ignoring the cameras that followed him.

*

To his utter embarrassment, Viktor had gone from the prospective winner of the Grand Prix Final to placing fourth. Everyone – his fans, the media, his fellow competitors – were completely shocked by the upset. The poor gold medalist was practically ignored, his win completely overshadowed by the speculation of what was wrong with Viktor. For his part, Viktor felt numb. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d won anything less than silver.

Without any time to pause and think, Viktor tried to turn his rage into productive energy, spending his free time practicing for the Nationals. He noticed he was falling more often during his jumps. After one particularly bad spill in which he hit his funny bone against the ice, Viktor ripped one of his skates off his feet and lobbed it across the rink, nearly hitting one of his rinkmates while she was setting up for a jump. She fell over trying to dodge the projectile, hissing as she banged her knee.

“Viktor – off the ice, now!” Coach Yakov shouted from the sidelines. Fuming, Viktor stood up and hobbled on one foot towards the exit. When he got there, Coach Yakov was waiting to chew his head off.

“Until you learn to stop acting like a child, you are suspended from skating!”

Viktor's jaw dropped. “Nationals are next week!”

“I don’t care!” Coach Yakov yelled. “You do _not_ endanger my students, no matter how angry you are. You are turning seventeen next week – act your age! Now get off the ice.”

“I’ll do you one better. I quit.” Viktor ripped off his other skate, dropping it at Yakov’s feet before storming off as loudly as he could with only socks on.

He paced in the locker room for several minutes, seething, too pissed off to think clearly. He wasn’t sure if he really meant what he said about quitting, but he wasn’t about to take it back now and lose face. Let Yakov worry for a while. Let him see how he would regret not having Viktor there to keep winning him medals.

“Viktor?” a quiet voice called. Viktor had expected someone to come find him, but he didn’t recognize the voice as one of his rinkmates. Still… it was familiar.

He turned toward the door that led to the lobby and saw Dmitry, Daniil’s star pupil, standing against the wall.

“Dmitry?” Viktor asked, completely shocked. “What are you doing here?”

The young man looked nervously around him, as if ensuring that they were alone. “I had to come,” he said. “I… I wanted to give you these….”

He held up a familiar stack of photos that Viktor had hoped to never see again. They were the ones Daniil had taken of him, a few rubber bands wrapped around the stack to keep it together. Viktor rushed to Dmitry and took them from him before the other boy could react, and threw them into the garbage can, covering them with a mass of paper towels. Once he was sure they were hidden, he turned back to his ex-rinkmate.

“Where did you find those?” he demanded. Dmitry bowed his head, not answering. “Dmitry, _where did you find those pictures_?”

When Dmitry still didn’t answer, a horrible realization hit Viktor. How else would he have found the pictures that Daniil kept in his bedroom except if….

“He’s… you’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

Dmitry flinched as if Viktor had taken a physical swing at him. He was so different from the last time Viktor had seen him, completely cowed and docile instead of strong-headed and proud. An overwhelming sense of guilt swept over Viktor – him being gone didn’t stop Daniil from being despicable. He old man had simply redirected his attention to a different target.

“He’s helping me to become a good figure skater,” Dmitry said. 

Viktor shook his head. “He’s lying, Dmitry. Trust me, you staying with him isn’t helping anyone except him. You need to leave.”

“I can’t,” Dmitry said. “He’ll ruin my career.”

“How can I help you?”

“D-Daniil sent me to tell you… he said congratulations on your loss at the Grand Prix Final. He said it must be humiliating to know that he was right all along.”

Fury and fear washed over Viktor all in one package of discomfort. As much as he hated to admit it, after his loss at the Grand Prix Final, he couldn’t help but think the same thing – that if he’d stayed with Daniil, maybe he would have done better. But he had to stop himself – he knew that wasn’t true. But if it wasn’t true, then why did he feel it so strongly?

“He said he wants to see you again,” Daniil said. “And that there’s more pictures where those came from. He said if you refuse to meet him, he’ll leak them anonymously to the press. If you tell anyone, especially your new coach, he’ll also send out the pictures.”

Viktor closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his worst fears being realized. Whether it was Konstantin or Daniil, he never seemed to be able to escape their poisonous company. Dmitry pressed a piece of paper into Viktor’s hand.

“Tonight,” he said. “I wrote down the address for you.”

“Thanks,” Viktor said unenthusiastically. “How long have you known about me and him?”

“Since you left him,” Dmitry said. “He started paying attention to me. Every time I did something wrong, he would say ‘that’s not what Viktor would have done’. He would make me act and move like you and dress like you. I'm even growing my hair out like you.” He gestured to the stubby ponytail at the nape of his neck. 

Viktor had never pitied anyone more than he did Dmitry in that moment. “For what it’s worth, Dmitry, I’m really sorry." He understood the hold that Dmitry was under, but couldn’t help him. Dmitry would have to reach that conclusion for himself before it would be worth making any moves. “It’s my fault you’re in this mess. I’m sorry.”

“Just don’t make him mad,” Dmitry said. “Or he’ll take it out on me.”

Viktor thought about going to get Coach Yakov for help. But after storming out the way he had, he didn’t want to owe that man anything. No, if Coach Yakov said he needed to act his age, then this was something he would have to take care of on his own.

“I’ll do my best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viktor can only have so many nice chapters in my story, apparently.
> 
> Who all noticed Yuuri's tiiiiiiiiny cameo? ;) Poor boy.
> 
> Also, I feel bad for Dmitry. I originally just created him to basically be Random Rinkmate #274, but now he's in the same mess that Viktor was. Sorry Dmitry. :(
> 
> =(ˆ•ㅅ•ˆ)=


	12. I Me Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Return of Daniil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The trigger warnings are SPOILER-ish today... last chance to look away!
> 
> ***
> 
> **
> 
> *
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Rape, threats of suicide, post-rape care

CHAPTER TWELVE – I ME MINE

Viktor didn’t bother going home, because he doubted he’d be able to leave once the Popoviches saw him. They probably wouldn’t worry about him anyway – they were already used to him staying out all night during his time dating Konstantin. He decided to while away the hours visiting a weapon shop. He couldn’t let Daniil leak those photos of him, but that didn’t mean he was just going to go to him like a lamb to the slaughter. Having a canister of mace hidden in his sleeve made him feel better – more in control.

When he figured it was time, he pulled out the address Dmitry had given him. It led him to a dingy hotel. He pulled his hood up to hide his face. Worse than this situation would be if someone else recognized him and alerted the media.

The steward at the front desk looked at him curiously, but quickly gave him Daniil’s room number when he asked for it – he was probably used to weird people staying here. Viktor’s fingers twitched during the entire elevator ride and he tried to breathe to calm his erratic heart rate. When he knocked on Daniil’s door, he heard a quiet, “it’s unlocked” from the other side.

“Ah, Vitya, you came!” Daniil said, rising from a chair in the corner. Viktor danced out his reach, pulling out the can of mace, pointing the nozzle at his ex-coach.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Viktor said through clenched teeth. “I came to tell you to leave me alone, and to leave Dmitry alone. You’re a poison to the world, but that doesn’t mean you have to ruin other people’s lives at the same time.”

Daniil raised an eyebrow at him. “You won’t hit me with that, Vitya. You know why? Because the second you do, I leak your photos to the media.”

“If you leak them, I’ll tell everyone how they came to be. You’ll be sent to prison.”

“If you tell anyone, I will cut out your tongue and make you eat it,” Daniil said so calmly that it sent chills up Viktor’s spine. “I’ll go to jail happy, knowing that you’ll die alone, ugly, and deformed. Now, hand me the mace.”

Viktor wanted to do exactly _not_ that.

“Why did you ask me to come here?” Viktor demanded, trying to distract the old man.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Daniil said. “I saw your little boyfriend at the convenience store. He was being yelled at for cutting your face from all the magazines – I figured you’d ended it with him. And then there was your absolute _failure_ at the Grand Prix Finale. You’re falling apart, Vitya. I want to help fix you.”

“I’m not broken,” Viktor said, but Daniil shook his head.

“You are so naïve, as always, my beautiful black swan.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’ll call you want I want. Tonight, you’re mine—”

Viktor sprayed the mace at the old man, who shrieked in pain, stepping back, rubbing his eyes furiously. Unfortunately, the plan backfired – in such an enclosed room, there was very little ventilation and Viktor felt the effects of the mace just as strongly. His eyes watered and burned and his sinuses felt like he’d snorted chili powder. He dropped the canister, backing up, blindly grasping for the door handle. Before he could find it, something hard connected with his throat, knocking the wind out of him. He fell sideways into the wall, a picture frame falling off and hitting him again for good measure.

He could hear Daniil gasping for air.

“You bastard,” he hissed, stepping on Viktor’s hand to keep him pinned. He took another swing at him and Viktor fell unconscious.

*

When he came to, Viktor found his hands were restrained above his head, tied to the headboard of the bed, and a gag had been stuffed into his mouth. He felt slightly chill, realizing his clothes had been pulled away. Daniil stood over him, hungrily taking in the sight of his body. Viktor tried to fight against the restraints, but they only tightened with every tug until he couldn’t feel his hands anymore. 

Daniil did nothing – he only waited for Viktor to give up on his own. When the teenager finally did, Daniil removed his own clothes and clambered onto the bed, laying on his side next to Viktor, stroking the young man’s chest with a gnarled finger.

“I miss this,” he cooed. “I miss us. Don't you, Vitya? Wasn’t it better when you just did what I asked of you? Look where your bullheaded ideas have gotten you – nowhere. It’s like I told you – without me, you’re useless.”

Viktor tried not to listen, but Daniil’s words flooded into him, mixing up his thoughts with the seeds of doubt that Daniil had spent so long cultivating within him – it flooded his subconscious with thoughts of self-loathing. Daniil noticed the tears forming in his eyes.

“It’s okay to cry, _lyubimyy_ ,” Daniil whispered. “It’s okay to be disappointed in yourself. You suffered a setback. But what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? You’re young. You can always try again tomorrow.”

Viktor jerked when Daniil started groping him. He tried to protest, but couldn’t move or speak.

Wordlessly, Daniil rose from his spot next to Viktor and straddled him, running his hands over every inch of him that he could reach. In spite of himself, Viktor’s body reacted to the touch. Daniil smiled.

“So you _do_ miss me,” he said proudly.

 _No_ , Viktor thought desperately. _You just know how my body works, you disgusting old man._

“Oh my beautiful black swan...” Daniil whispered, gently prying Viktor’s legs apart. 

He took him without any ceremony. Viktor threw his head back into the pillow, his eyes clenched. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be. He’d done so well, moving on from his time with Daniil, but nothing had changed. He was still just a collectible – something to take down and admire when the old man felt like it.

Daniil’s pace quickened desperately, groaning and whispering Viktor’s name over and over. For Viktor, it was pure torture. He yanked at his restraints, but they’d already tightened so much that he was sure his fingers were turning blue. He tried to shift his hips out of the way, but Daniil held him in place. Viktor would be there until the old man was done, and not before.

Without warning, the old man dropped on Viktor as though someone had flipped the ‘off’ switch on his brain. Daniil’s forehead hit Viktor’s nose and he felt his own blood streak across his face. Not sure what happened, he tried his best to wriggle away, but the man’s weight pinned him in place. His heart pounded. Had Daniil had a heart attack? Was he going to be stuck like this until housekeeping found him?

“Jesus Christ, Viktor!” he heard a voice. Daniil’s body was pulled out of and away from his, hitting the floor with a thud. Georgi stood over him, furious tears in his eyes, as he fumbled with the restraints.

 _No_ , Viktor thought, chomping at the gag that kept him from saying the words aloud. _Go away Georgi. You seeing me now… that’s worse than what Daniil was doing._

He cried from the absolute humiliation. Georgi finally managed to untie one of his hands and moved to the other side of the bed to work on the other one. Viktor used his free hand to pull the gag out of his mouth.

“Go away, Georgi,” he sobbed. Georgi stopped what he was doing momentarily to glare at Viktor. His friend’s face was completely red with fury, and his eyes held a glint of ferocity that Viktor had never seen before.

“ _Have you completely lost your mind?!_ ” he roared. “I’m _not_ leaving you!”

“I don’t want you to see….”

“It’s a little late for that,” Georgi pointed out. “How long has this been going on? Is this why you lost the Grand Prix Final?”

“No, I lost because I’m a terrible skater,” Viktor said. “This was just tonight… I… I had to come… he was going to leak those photos of me….”

“So he blackmailed you.” Georgi summarized drily. “I don’t care what you say – I’m tired of letting this guy walk all over you. We’re going to the hospital – you can get a rape kit done and we’ll go to the police—”

“No.”

Georgi punched Viktor so hard in the mouth he heard cartilage pop near his ear.

“You are a moron! He’s never going to stop until he’s locked away! I know you’re worried about this getting out, but it sounds like it’s going to happen either way. At least this way he can’t keep hurting you.”

He freed Viktor’s other hand and Viktor pulled himself upright with shaking arms, massaging his jaw and his nose and wringing the feeling back into his fingers. He looked over the edge of the bed, at Daniil’s prone, naked body splayed out on the floor.

“Did you kill him?”

“I wish,” Georgi grumbled. “I just knocked him out, I think. He was so… well… distracted. I don’t think he even heard me come in, and I wasn’t quiet about it.”

“I didn’t hear you either,” Viktor admitted. “I thought he’d had a heart attack on top of me.”

“If only it were that easy to get rid of him, but he’s like a cockroach,” Georgi said, walking over and nudging the old man with his toe. He grabbed a blanket off of the bed and wrapped it around Viktor. The two of them had seen each other naked plenty of times in the locker rooms, but Viktor somehow felt so much more exposed now. He couldn’t bring himself to look Georgi in the eye.

“How did you know where to find me?”

“I was worried about you after you stormed off at practice. When Mom said you hadn’t come home, I got a bad feeling. I went to Daniil’s apartment. One of his students was there – Dmitry. I… well, I threatened him until he told me where I could find you both.”

“I can’t believe you went to all that trouble.”

“You’re my best friend, Viktor,” Georgi said. “Of course I would.”

“Do your parents know?”

“Not yet,” Georgi said. “But they’re first on the list. I know you’ll be pissed at me, but we need to get you some serious help. Mom’ll know how to start the process.”

“If you tell anyone, I’ll kill myself,” Viktor threatened. “I’ve got nothing left now worth living for. I quit skating this afternoon, then Daniil… once you tell everyone, my private life will become media fodder. If you think I’m going to try and get through that, you’re just kidding yourself.”

“What about your family? Your grandparents? And your uncles? And Makkachin? You’ve got plenty to live for.”

“I’m a menace to society,” Viktor said. “They’d be better off without me.”

“Listen to yourself,” Georgi said as he crouched next to Viktor, his shoulders sinking with hopelessness. “You haven’t sounded this bad in a long time, Viktor. We have to go to the hospital. Now. I’m not taking no for an answer. Can you stand? Come on, let’s get you dressed.”

While Viktor figured out how to work his sore legs, Georgi stumbled around the room, reclaiming all of Viktor’s clothes that had been tossed to various areas. They left Daniil on the floor, to either wake up on his own, or be found by housekeeping. Georgi had an arm wrapped around Viktor’s waist, helping Viktor to stay upright. It wasn’t the bodily pain that hurt the most – it was the crushing realization of what had been done to him. He felt physically ill. As they stumbled down the street, he had to stop several times, rushing to the nearest alleyway to throw up.

“Can’t hold his liquor, can he?” a random man laughed as he walked by them. Georgi pulled Viktor’s hair from his face to give him a clear shot at the pavement. Viktor wrapped his arms around his stomach, which he’d worked far harder than he had in a while. He was exhausted, humiliated, and sick – he just wanted to lay down and never get up again.

“We’re almost there, Viktor,” Georgi said, rubbing a supportive hand on Viktor’s back. “You’re doing really well.”

“I want to die,” Viktor groaned through clenched teeth, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The acidic taste that invaded his mouth was enough in itself to make him sick again. He dry-heaved multiple times. “I don’t w-want to live anymore, Georgi. Please just leave me here.”

“Not a chance,” Georgi said firmly. “Stand up – we’re almost there.” He pulled Viktor’s arm around his shoulder and hauled him to his feet, practically dragging in the rest of the way to the nearest hospital. Viktor had always been amazed at Georgi’s GPS-oriented mind, and how easily he remembered directions and maps. He could find a specific snowflake in a snowstorm if he wanted to. 

When they entered the hospital, Georgi lowered Viktor gently into one of the waiting room chairs before going to check him in. It was past midnight now, and very few people were waiting with them, so it wasn’t long before a nurse called Viktor’s name. Georgi was asked to stay behind.

Viktor hated every second of being there. The nurse asked him a list of questions about his health, how long he’d been sexually active, and many other things that Viktor felt too exhausted to relive. The nurse then asked Viktor to remove his clothes while standing on a sheet of white paper, and she placed the clothes in a bag. Viktor was sad he’d chosen today of all days to wear his favorite shirt – he didn’t think he’d be getting it back. 

The physical exam was one of the longest ordeals Viktor had ever experienced. The nurse was neither soft, nor harsh as she methodically scraped every part of him, taking hair, blood, and urine samples, among others. The worst part came when she had to check him for internal injuries. There were none, but Viktor felt like a show horse being primped and preened. She took photos of his entire body to document the bruises on his neck and face. He didn’t mention the bruise forming on his jaw was from Georgi. 

Finally, the nurse gave him a cheap set of baggy clothes he could wear home since she’d taken his from him. By the time she was done, the clock on the wall read five minutes to five in the morning. Viktor wanted to drop onto the examination table and sleep for ten years.

“Since you’re a minor, we will need to report this assault to the authorities,” she explained in a matter-of-fact tone. “But it’s your decision whether or not you want to press charges.”

“I don’t want to press charges,” Viktor said quickly.

The nurse nodded. “When an officer contacts you, you can tell them that. Now, we’ll call you once we get your STD tests back, but I’m going to prescribe you a preventative antibiotic tonight. Your friend in the front room also informed our secretary that you’d expressed a desire to harm yourself. I would like to recommend you to a few therapists in the city that work specifically with sexual assault victims. 

_Sexual assault victim._ The words sounded so serious and final that Viktor found it difficult to apply the concept to himself. It was his fault that this happened – could he really consider himself a victim?

“You may be able to see one of them as soon as tomorrow or the next day, depending on when you call and how booked they are,” the nurse continued. “But I highly recommend you don’t spend any time alone for the next few days, at least until you can get an appointment.”

Viktor nodded, intending to throw away the list of names she passed to him the second he got home and lock the door to his room.

When he was finally released back into the world, he found Georgi laying across several chairs, trying to snooze, but looking incredibly uncomfortable. Next to him, Mr. and Mrs. Popovich sat shoulder-to-shoulder, their heads propped up on one another’s while they slept. When Viktor entered the room, Georgi noticed him and said his name, waking the adults as well. Mrs. Popovich rushed to Viktor and pulled him into a hug – Viktor resisted the urge to back away from her.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered in his ear. She pulled away, smoothing the shoulders of Viktor’s new hoodie. “You know I had my suspicions, but I never thought it was this bad. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I just want to go home,” Viktor replied wearily. He’d had enough of questions for one night. When he saw Georgi watching him, he glared at him before looking away. Georgi had brought him here, told his parents… if the media got wind of this night, Viktor knew who to blame.

Georgi seemed to sense Viktor’s thoughts. “You weren’t helping yourself, Viktor. I had to do something. I don’t care if you hate me forever – I don’t regret what I did tonight.”

On their way home, they stopped at a McDonald’s drive-through, ordering Viktor something to eat. He thought he wasn’t hungry, but as soon as he smelled the sausage muffin, his stomach growled ferociously. He ate in silence, reveling in the delicious, greasy food that he rarely allowed himself, listening to the light conversation that Mr. and Mrs. Popovich were having in the front seat. Georgi somehow got hold of the list of therapists, and passed it to his mother, but Viktor didn’t say anything. He knew it was pointless. 

He’d lost control of his life. He had nothing now, not even skating, to distract him from the overwhelming feeling of self-loathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyubimyy - darling
> 
> Daniil: You won't spray me with that mace.  
> Viktor: *sprays mace*
> 
> Fighting back in little ways. :) But definitely a tough chapter to write, all the same. :(
> 
> So Georgi is basically a badass. ;P When I first started writing him, I was basically going to just do like a little blurb about his silliness with his girlfriend-mania, but then he turned into this completely different person. I like it! Georgi is obviously a very caring person (sometimes to the point of obsession) and takes things really personally. I feel like Viktor's reactions to him this chapter are where those traits could have stemmed from.
> 
> Oh my god at the comments from last chapter! So many! *waves at commenters* It was great chatting with you all!
> 
> =(ˆ•ㅅ•ˆ)=


	13. Carry that Weight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor returns to the ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: None, I believe. Let me know if I miss anything!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN – CARRY THAT WEIGHT

When Viktor woke up at two in the afternoon, it took him several moments to remember why he felt so sore and miserable. The events from the night before flooded back to him and he leapt off of the sofa, pacing angrily to try and rid himself of the sudden furious energy. More than any other thought in his head, he wished Makkachin were there.

He gazed down at the cheap clothes that the hospital had given him – he hadn’t bothered changing when they got home, and somehow the idea of using any energy to go upstairs and change now completely overwhelmed him. Mr. and Mrs. Popovich had taken the nurse’s instructions to heart and refused to let Viktor be alone. They’d plopped him down on the couch when they got home, ordering him to sleep while Mr. Popovich took up vigil in his favorite chair, reading for hours until Mrs. Popovich woke up and spelled him. 

Viktor could hear low voices coming from the kitchen and wandered closer. He was only half-surprised to see Yakov sitting at the table, drinking coffee and speaking in low tones with Mrs. Popovich. They mentioned his name several times.

“Now you know too, then?” Viktor croaked, leaning against the entry frame and Coach Yakov turned to look at him.

“Yes.”

Viktor exhaled, frustrated. “Somehow, everyone seems to think that sharing my private information with each other is okay with me. For the record, it’s not.”

“What happened to you was not only morally wrong, but it was illegal,” Coach Yakov said. “The blame does not fall on you, and there is no shame in it. I only wish you’d told us earlier.”

“Why are you here?” Viktor asked, changing the subject.

Coach Yakov set his coffee mug down. “Originally, I came here to drag you to the rink so you could practice for Nationals. But now… I understand if you would prefer to end your season early. Whether you wish to do so or not, I will support your decision.”

“I thought I was suspended,” Viktor pointed out.

“If you’re waiting for an apology, you’ll be waiting a long time,” Coach Yakov gruffed. “Make no mistake, you should _not_ have thrown your skate during the rink’s busy hours, and you _will not_ endanger the safety of my students again. But the crime wasn’t worthy of the punishment you received.”

Viktor figured that would be the closest thing to an apology he would get.

“There’s also something else to consider, Viktor,” Mrs. Popovich said, pushing the sheet of therapists toward him.

“I’m not going to see a therapist,” Viktor argued.

Coach Yakov’s face softened. “Vitya, none of us knew you before Coach Daniil began taking advantage of you, so we cannot speak from long-term experience. That being said, your behavior has noticeably deteriorated since the Grand Prix Final. I think seeing a therapist would be good for you. You can talk about your assault, but I also think it would be good to discuss the winning complex you’ve developed.”

“Speaking as a medical professional,” Mrs. Popovich said, “I think the two subjects may very well go hand-in-hand.”

*

Viktor felt like his head was spinning. Only days after his major upset at the Grand Prix final, he was boarding another plane, heading to Kazan for the Russian Nationals. 

After taking a single day off to recover from his assault and attend his first-ever therapy session, Viktor returned to the ice. He frantically ran through his routine for two days, staying late into the night and pushing his sore body past its limits – it was his goal to incorporate a quad flip in his Free Skate, and his success rate wasn’t very high. In the end, Coach Yakov kicked him off the ice, telling him that he was doing more harm than good. Viktor didn’t sleep well that night – mentally running through the program and listening to the songs over and over until his mp3 ran out of battery. Still, by the time he was on a flight to Kazan, he’d never felt less prepared for a competition in his life.

From the moment Viktor stepped off the plane, flashing cameras and microphones surrounded him. Thank god Coach Yakov had had the foresight to bring makeup for Viktor to apply on the plane – he was able to hide his bruises and avoid at least those awkward questions. Instead, he faced questions about the Grand Prix Final results. Viktor closed his eyes and took a breath.

“I’m obviously disappointed by the results at the Grand Prix Final,” he said to the reporters. “But the loss has motivated me to try harder. I hope to turn things around at the Nationals and European Championships. No further comment.”

*

Viktor spent his seventeenth birthday fighting hard for a spot on the podium at the Russian Nationals. He’d been terrified at the thought that Daniil might be there supporting his students. In the end, he saw Katenka there, but she informed him that her coach was feeling ill and couldn’t make it. 

“Nursing a headache is more like it,” Georgi mumbled when Viktor told him. “I’m glad I hit him harder than I thought.”

Viktor didn't reply. He was still angry with Georgi for spreading his relationship with Daniil around. It was because of him that no one looked at him the same." 

The distraction cost Viktor dearly and he won silver only by the skin of his teeth. Viktor considered it another loss, but it put the media to rest – Viktor Nikiforov’s loss at the Grand Prix Final had been a fluke, nothing more. He was working his way back to the top. Still, Viktor had never felt less deserving of a medal. When he went back to his room, he tossed the silver disc into the corner and refused to touch it. In the end, Georgi tucked it into his own luggage, promising to return it when they got home.

*

Viktor’s placement at the Nationals guaranteed him a spot in the European Championships in Lyon, France. He and one of Coach Yakov’s pair skating couples were the only ones to make it that year. Viktor considered taking a longer vacation than usual to fly to Paris and visit his family after the Championship, but decided against it in the end. If he kept losing, he clearly wasn’t focused enough, and seeing his family might make him lose even more focus. He needed to get back to Russia and practice more.

When they landed, Viktor went to the baggage claim when he felt a pair of hands grab his shoulders from behind. He jumped and spun around, coming face to face with his uncle.

“ _Oncle_ François!” he shouted, leaping into his uncle’s open arms. Uncle François laughed as he squeezed his nephew, lifting him off of his feet in the process.

“Surprise!” he said, placing Viktor on the floor again and giving him another – calmer – hug. He reached out to wipe the tears from Viktor’s face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s not that…” Viktor sniffed, using the heel of his hand to rub his eye. “I just… I didn’t think anyone would… is _Oncle_ Maurice here?”

“No, just me,” Uncle François explained. “We couldn’t afford for the entire family to come, so I’m the representative. It’s so good to see you Viktor!”

“Ah, hello François,” Coach Yakov said in English as he joined the group, the pair skaters in tow.

“Hello, Coach Yakov,” Uncle François greeted as he placed a hand over Viktor’s shoulders. “Thank you for letting me know when this one would be getting in.”

“You knew?” Viktor asked Coach Yakov, who gave the barest of smiles.

“I thought it might lift your spirits,” Coach Yakov explained lightly. “You’ll be staying with your uncle while we’re here, but I want you to be at the arena for practice tomorrow at nine A.M. sharp, so get some sleep.”

“Yes, sir,” Viktor said, hardly daring to believe that he would get to spend almost the entire week with his uncle. They said their goodbyes to the group and Uncle François helped Viktor drag his luggage to the rental car. A ball of fluff sat waiting in the passenger seat.

“Makkachin!” Viktor shouted when he saw his beloved poodle. The window was rolled down, so when Makkachin stuck her head out, he wrapped his arms around her. For her part, she tried to lick every part of his face that she could reach, clearing away his tears as soon as they fell. He laughed and pushed her nose away playfully. “I missed you so much.”

“She missed you too,” Uncle François said, grinning, his hands in his pockets. When he pulled them back out, he held a folded up wad of papers. “I believe you’ve been waiting a long time for these.”

Viktor took them and read the first page. “Makkachin’s papers?”

“Yep,” Uncle François grinned. “When you head back to Russia after the Championships, she’ll be on the plane with you.”

Viktor tackled his uncle. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” 

Uncle François hugged him back, chuckling. “Of course. You hungry? Let’s go grab some dinner.”

Viktor spent the evening in Lyon with his uncle, enjoying the sights and street vendor food. Coach Yakov would blow a gasket if he knew that Viktor was breaking his diet the night before a competition, but at that point, he didn’t care. He munched happily on three different-flavored crêpes while he watched Makkachin bowl through hordes of pigeons.

“Viktor,” Uncle François said lightly, propping against the low park wall. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?” 

“Your coach has been updating me on some of what’s happened and—”

“He told you,” Viktor finished snappishly. “I can’t _believe_ him. Does _no one_ care that I don’t want my entire life out in the open?”

“Not even to your family who loves you?” Uncle François pointed out as his knuckles turned white where they gripped the wall. Viktor stopped his rant prematurely. “For the record, Coach Yakov didn’t go into detail. He only said that you’d been badly assaulted and were going to therapy to work through it.”

“Oh,” Viktor said. He leaned against the wall glumly.

“Also for the record, I’m glad to hear you’re going to therapy. But I wanted to know… is there anything I can do to help you?”

Viktor didn’t answer right away. He watched Makkachin trot up to strangers to receive pats on the head.

“Do… do Mémé and Pépé know?”

“No, just me and _Oncle_ Maurice.”

“Please keep it that way. I don’t want to worry them.”

“But—”

“You asked how you could help. I just want to forget what happened, and having people sharing my life with each other without my consent has been a great way to keep the wounds fresh. The less people that know, the better.”

“I – okay, I understand,” Uncle François conceded. “But please tell me if I can help any other way. Even if it means you come live with us in France – we’ll find a way to make it work.”

Viktor nodded. He knew that couldn’t happen, but entertaining the idea gave him his usual spark of joy. It wasn’t until he actually saw his family that he realized how much he’d longed for these connections.

“How has therapy been going? Has it helped?”

“I suppose,” Viktor joined his uncle at the wall, stooping forward. He never liked talking about the sessions that were imposed upon him by the wills of Mrs. Popovich and Coach Yakov. “I can’t really tell. The therapist made a list of all of these things I’ve apparently developed and she gave me ways to ‘cope’ with them, but I think it’s kind of stupid.”

“What sorts of things have you developed?”

Viktor glared at his uncle. “Nothing.”

Uncle François shrugged. “Okay, then – _according to your therapist_ , what have you developed?”

Viktor sighed. “The usual. Depression and anxiety – which is moronic… I’m anxious because I’m always competing – that’s normal.”

“Okay – anything else?”

Viktor made quotation mark gestures with his fingers as sarcastically as he could to emphasize how little stock he set in the following list: “’Self-destructive behavior’, ‘irritability’, ‘winning complex’, ‘mild dissociation’, and ‘self-esteem issues’.”

“Self-destructive?” Uncle François turned to face Viktor. “What are you doing?”

Viktor rolled his eyes. “Apparently getting back into the dating game is self-destructive. No one liked the boyfriend I picked out for myself.”

“’Picked out.’” 

“Yeah. We’re not dating anymore. But my therapist said I may have gone into the relationship with the intention of proving that I could, even though he was a soulless ogre who just wanted to gorge on beer and hot dogs, and fuck all the time—”

Viktor froze – he’d started talking the way he did with Georgi when they shared their secrets with each other. He’d completely forgotten it was his uncle who was listening. For his part, Uncle François’ face was lit with shock. Viktor quickly tried to backpedal.

“I mean – I don’t… I… um…”

“Don’t bother explaining, Viktor,” Uncle François sighed quickly, rubbing his temple.

“Are… are you mad?”

Uncle François waved a hand. “Hard as it is to believe, I was young once too. I get it. But… if that’s how you describe the person you decided to be intimate with, I have to admit, I kind of understand where your therapist is coming from. Do you?”

“I… I guess….” Viktor turned his attention to his feet.

“Can you do me a favor, Viktor?” Uncle François asked.

“Anything.”

“When you go back to Russia, I want you to keep going to your therapy sessions. But don’t just go to appease others – I want you to really listen to what your therapist has to say and give her suggestions a try. Do that for six months and then see how you feel? Can you do that?”

Viktor sighed in reply. Uncle François correctly interpreted it as Viktor’s disgruntled agreement, and placed a hand on his nephew’s shoulder, rubbing his arm to warm him against the chilly evening air.

“Thank you for being honest with me, _mon petit chou_ ,” he grinned sadly. “I know it’s probably not easy to talk about this stuff, but it’s good to know that you haven’t given up – that you still have goals and things you’re working towards. You have my unwavering love and support. I hope you know that.”

Viktor smiled, his own eye twinkling with tears. “Thank you, _Oncle_ Fran– Makkachin, _no_!”

The two of them ran off towards the nearby lake, laughing as they rescued a gaggle of petrified swans from an extremely soggy Makkachin.

*

The low reedy pluck of an electric cello opened an arrangement of Beethoven's ['Moonlight Sonata'](https://youtu.be/DRVvFYppU0w?t=8). Viktor took full advantage of his toe picks to make quick, precise movements to keep up with the tempo. 

Somewhere in the stands, he knew Uncle François was watching, cheering him on. He’d already placed first after the Short Program, leading by a considerable amount. As he did each time the familiar music started, Viktor sighed, unloading his stress on the ice and forgetting all else except for his next moves. He dished out two perfect quads in quick succession, which prompted enthusiastic cheers from the crowd. They were already in love with the piece and it had barely started.

Everything about this program felt right today. Coach Yakov had helped him to make a few last-minute changes to the composition, but everything else was entirely his, from the footwork all the way down to the design of his costume – a sparkling blue piece that imitated ethereal feathers, which draped over a black bodysuit.

The crowd chanted his name when the music faded out. Coach Yakov actually hugged him when his scores came in – he’d been selected to skate last and his the numbers boosted him directly to first place. 

He joined the silver and bronze medalists at the podium – two older gentlemen skating for France and Holland. A younger girl skated up to him, and placed a crown of blue roses on his head. He rearranged it quickly before accepting an arm full of plastic-wrapped roses.

After a quick victory lap, Viktor left the ice.

“Hi, Viktor!” someone called in French. A wide-eyed blonde boy – probably a few years younger than him – waved from the stands. “Congratulations!”

Viktor recognized him – he’d competed earlier and had placed high enough in the rankings to qualify for the World Championships. Not bad for his debut.

“And what is your name?”

“Christophe Giacometti!”

Viktor smiled. “Thanks, Chris. Here—” he tossed him one of the packaged roses and gave a small wave. “See you at the Worlds!”

Christophe nodded enthusiastically as Viktor retreated into the hallway where a mass of cameras pointed at him, various anchors vying for his attention. He put on a smile and patiently answered their questions.

 _This is where I belong,_ he thought proudly. _As long as I have figure skating, I don’t need anything or anyone else._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are... this is the final chapter of Viktor as a teenager! Next chapter, we will pick up with his life as a 28-year-old, taking place after the events in the show, when more shit goes down.
> 
> ALSO, headcanon that I'm not going to be able to fit into the story, but still thought was kind of cool. So you know how I said Maurice is a choreographer for the Opéra national de Paris? My thought was always that François worked for the company as well (as a lead singer and composer) and that's how he and Maurice met... so what if _François_ composed 'Stay Close to Me: Aria and Duetto' for Viktor, and sang the male vocal part?! Ah, my heart. It's a family business, truly. :) 
> 
> I also cheated a little - while Moonlight Sonata has been around basically forever, this arrangement by the Piano Guys came out in 2011 (the current time marker for this story is December 2005). Shhhhh... ;P I hope you'll forgive me in exchange for this cool song that you can now listen to always (if you haven't heard Piano Guys yet... or even if you have). :D
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> =(ˆ•ㅅ•ˆ)=


	14. Nowhere Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The future is now!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **HEADS UP: Today's trigger warnings take away the element of surprise.**
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> Trigger warnings: Descriptions of child molestation, OC character death (redrum)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN – NOWHERE MAN

_As long as I have figure skating, I don’t need anything or anyone else._

As it turned out, Viktor came to the pleasant realization many years later, he could not have been more wrong.

Twenty-nine-year-old Viktor Nikiforov lay in bed, having woken up an hour before his alarm was due to go off. Instead of trying to fall back to sleep, he turned on his side and watched the beautiful Japanese man sleeping peacefully beside him – his fiancé, he reminded himself, his stomach somersaulting happily. Yuuri Katsuki had only been in his life for a short time, but it wasn’t until he’d met the younger skater that he realized exactly what he’d been missing in his past relationships. 

Yuuri was everything that Daniil, Konstantin, and his other companions hadn’t been. He was kind, gentle, handsome, warm, talented… Viktor could have gone on all day. But the best part about Yuuri was that he didn’t seem to realize these qualities about himself – and that gave Viktor a job, a reason to be needed. It was a job he could not have been happier performing.

Suddenly his phone went off. Yuuri groaned in his sleep, and Viktor reached over to turn off the alarm, only to realize that it was Chris’ ringtone – a segment of the song _Baby Got Back_ , programmed by Chris himself during one of their nights out drinking. As quietly as he could, Viktor hit the answer button and fumbled out of bed, putting the phone to his ear and mumbling “Chris?” as he retreated to the kitchen.

“How are you doing?” Chris asked solemnly.

“Fine?” Viktor said as he sat at one of the barstools and rubbing his eyes. “Tired. Do you know what time it is here?”

“I wanted to check in on you before the media did.”

“Media? What do you mean?”

There was a very long pause in which Chris fumbled for the right words.

“You… you haven’t seen it yet?”

“Seen _what_ , Chris?”

“It’s… well… I think you should read it for yourself. Wait a minute, I’ll send you a link.”

Viktor fiddled with the saltshaker while he listened to Chris tapping around on his phone. Within seconds, Chris texted him a link to an article – the auto load picture showed the beginning portion of his name. With a sinking feeling, Viktor opened the article to read the entire headline:

FIGURE SKATING LEGEND VIKTOR NIKIFOROV’S PORNOGRAPHIC CHILDHOOD PHOTOS LEAKED

“ _What?_ ” Viktor gasped. Without bothering to read the rest of the article, he opened a Google image search on himself. The usual photos were there - ones of him during competition, and of him meeting his fans... but now they were joined by fleshy photos of him that Daniil had taken. They looked as though they’d been scanned hastily and uploaded with poor quality, but they were there, and they were clearly him.

“ _Please_ tell me they’re photoshopped,” Chris insisted when Viktor didn’t say anything else.

“I… no, they’re… they’re real… oh _god_ ….” Viktor placed the phone down to put his head in his hands and let the weight of this realization hit him. The very thing he’d always feared would happen had just happened. He’d spent the last ten years doing everything he could to comfort himself with the thought that Daniil wouldn’t post the photos if he didn’t want to be arrested for taking them. Why would Daniil do this to him now? What had he done to push him over that edge?

“ _Viktor? Viktor, are you there? Viktor, answer me or I’m calling Yuuri!_ ” Chris’ voice echoed from the phone.

Viktor picked up the phone and croaked, “I’m here. God, Chris, what do I do?”

“I… I don’t know,” Chris admitted. “Viktor… what happened? You never told me about this.”

“Can you blame me? This is exactly why.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

Viktor didn’t answer immediately. He’d spent so much energy striving to keep this one portion of his life private. Now that the media was aware, Viktor feared what else they would uncover. He knew he was only facing the beginning of an arduous journey. And there was one person to blame.

“I have to go,” Viktor said, and hung up before Chris could distract him.

He rushed back into the room and threw on whatever clothes he could find, deciding at the last moment to put on sunglasses and a hat, despite the dark, stormy weather. Makkachin was nestled in Yuuri’s embrace, but the single word ‘walk’ was enough to get her to wriggle out of bed and follow him back into the kitchen.

 _Taking Makka for a walk,_ he wrote on a piece of scrap paper.

Thank the lord it was still early out – St. Petersburg was bathed in the dim glow of the city lights, still too early for the sun. Too early for most normal people to be out, which meant less of a chance of being recognized. Viktor had put Makkachin on a leash, which he rarely did anymore. He needed her with him. She seemed to notice the change, and stayed patiently by his side while they traveled down the street, heading toward the one place Viktor had hoped to never see again.

The building in which Daniil lived was more run-down than Viktor remembered. Having lived there for so long, he didn’t need to buzz in to gain access – instead he pushed a sequence of buttons on the pin-pad, meant for an emergency. Even though it had been at least twelve years since he’d last been here, the code hadn’t been replaced, and Viktor sidled into the building when the door clicked open. He rushed to the top floor and banged on the door, which flew open unexpectedly.

“Daniil?!” Viktor barked as he rushed into the living room. Familiar sights and sounds overwhelmed him. The place still smelled like his ex-coach. Crushed beer cans, molding food cartons, and used condoms littered the floor. Viktor wanted to vomit.

“Daniil, come out, you bastard!”

When no one replied, Viktor threw open the door to the only bedroom, which was empty. A quick sweep of the bathroom and kitchen showed that no one was home. Viktor lowered himself onto the couch he had once slept on. It smelled horrendous, a perfect representation of how Viktor felt in that moment.

Makkachin rested her head on his knee. Viktor couldn’t bring himself to pet her, because petting her meant that everything was okay. He was not okay.

He lowered his face into his trembling hands. Everything he had worked so hard protecting, in a single night, had been destroyed. And Yuuri…

 _Oh, god, Yuuri…_ Viktor thought, his stomach plummeting. Konstantin had rejected him when he learned about Daniil. What would Yuuri think? 

Makkachin hopped up on the couch next to him and leaned into arm, her sweet, concerned whine penetrating his thoughts. Viktor focused on the touch as he tried to collect himself. He reached out a knuckle and used it to stroke her front leg.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered to her. “I’m sorry….”

*

Viktor found Yuuri at the kitchen island when he returned to his house, having been unsuccessful in locating Daniil. He’d waited at his ex-coach’s apartment for about an hour, until the sun started to rise and he knew Yuuri would be waking up.

Yuuri, who had looked so peaceful and relaxed the last time Viktor saw him, sat hunched over his phone, bags of exhaustion lining his eyes despite the night of rest he’d had. Viktor didn’t need to ask if Yuuri had seen the news.

“I can explain,” were his first words. Yuuri shook his head, standing up and walking into Viktor’s embrace, resting his head on Viktor’s chest. Finally, he pulled away.

“I’m so sorry, Viktor,” Yuuri whispered, tears in his beautifully dark eyes. “I don’t understand everything, but I know that you would never have wanted this. How can I help you?”

Viktor had been playing this moment in his head from the second he’d read the damning headline. Every reaction Yuuri might have had, from shock to disgust, had run through his mind. Viktor hadn’t anticipated kindness. But of course Yuuri would react this way – he wasn’t Konstantin. He wasn’t Daniil.

Viktor wrapped his arms around Yuuri, mumbling into his hair, “You’re too good for me. You know that, right? It’s like you once told me, _zolotse_ – you don’t have to do anything. Just… just be here.”

“Of course,” Yuuri whispered back.

Viktor broke them apart. He’d been thinking about this during his walk home, and he knew he needed to tell Yuuri everything. His fiancé deserved that much.

“Sit down,” he said, gesturing to the barstool. “I… I need to tell you what you’ve gotten yourself into by dating me.”

Yuuri sat, watching Viktor carefully, as if fighting with his conflicting desires to understand the situation, and to not upset Viktor further. Viktor smiled. He knew Yuuri didn’t understand just how much he meant to him. He entwined his fingers carefully with Yuuri’s, using his little finger to spin the ring on Yuuri’s right hand.

“I came out to my parents just after I turned fourteen,” he began. “They rejected me. My father threatened to shoot me if I ever tried to come back.”

“What?” Yuuri gasped, his face draining of color.

“That’s why I’ve never invited you to meet my parents.”

“I always thought they just lived far away or something,” Yuuri explained.

Viktor chuckled bitterly. “I wish that were the problem. They live just outside of the city. Maybe a twenty-minute drive away. I haven’t seen them in fourteen years. When they disowned me, I had nowhere to go. I ended up living with my ex-coach, Daniil.” Viktor paused to shiver and clench Yuuri’s fingers a little in his grip. Yuuri responded with his own squeeze. _I’m right here,_ he seemed to say.

“For a while, it was normal – well… as normal as you can get, being a parentless teenager. I had an older sister too, Tatiana. She… actually, Mari kind of reminds me of her. They’re both headstrong, but supportive to a fault. Anyway, Tati would visit me, at least a couple times a week. Then one day I got a call from my father, telling me she’d been killed in a hit-and-run.”

“God,” Yuuri breathed. “Viktor, I… I had no idea. I am so sorry. I can’t believe the media never released anything about that.”

“It’s not really something I talked about a lot. After Tati died… that’s when Daniil changed. I found the box of those pictures – some of me, some of his other students – and I tried to leave. But he swore to me he would ruin my career if I left him.”

“You should have left anyway,” Yuuri pointed out, and Viktor was vaguely pleased to hear that he was angry on his behalf. “Your safety was more important than ice skating.”

“Well, I know that _now_ ,” Viktor said. “But as an otherwise homeless teenager with no way of supporting myself, I felt like I had no choices left to me. So I stayed. And that’s when he started to….”

There was a beat where Viktor’s voice abandoned him. He gulped a few times, and turned his head to stare blankly at the pristine kitchen countertops.

“Viktor?”

“I…” Viktor cleared his throat. “It wasn’t too bad at first. Just… just touching and he would take pictures of me, tell me how to position myself… but after a while, he became bolder. It was normal for me to… to have sex with him at least a few times a week, if not more.”

Yuuri closed his eyes and turned his face away, his face arranged in revulsion.

 _This is it,_ Viktor thought, his stomach clenching in preparation for the pain of another rejection. _It’s Konstantin all over again. He’s going to be disgusted, and he’s going to leave me…_

Viktor’s thoughts fell short when Yuuri turned to face him again, and Viktor was shocked to see tears streaming from his glassy eyes.

“I don’t know what to say,” Yuuri cried. “Viktor… I… I am so sorry…. I feel like it’s not fair of me to cry when you’re not, but… I just hurt so much for you. All those times I watched you skating, growing up… I had no idea what you were going through. I wish I could go back in time and stop that monster from ever touching you.”

“I’ve been ruined, Yuuri,” Viktor said, voicing this fear for the first time in his life. Not even in the few therapy sessions he’d attended had he ever admitted this thought. “Over and over, he ruined me in every way that he could. I look at you, and you’re so beautiful and… and _wonderful_ and I know I don’t deserve you—”

“Stop right there,” Yuuri said. Viktor had been about to untangle his fingers from Yuuri’s, but his beautiful fiancé held him tighter. “Don’t _ever_ think that you’re _not_ worthwhile, Viktor. I love you so much it hurts. This changes nothing between us. You’ve been hurt beyond words, but I want you to understand… that _none_ of it was your fault.”

Viktor leaned toward Yuuri, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face into Yuuri’s shoulder. He cried harder than he had ever allowed himself to cry before. When he felt Yuuri pull him closer and whisper loving words of comfort, his cries turned to wails of despair and relief. He was vaguely aware that Makkachin was standing by him, whining and leaning against him. When he’d cried his fill, he reached down and patted her head with one had while wiping his face with the other. Yuuri offered him a tissue.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor mumbled quietly as he wiped his face.

“Don’t be,” Yuuri said, hopping from his stool and closing the small gap between him and Viktor, standing between Viktor’s knees and gazing down at him where he sat. He hesitated a little before putting his hands on Viktor’s shoulders, running his fingers through Viktor’s hair experimentally. When Viktor didn’t stop him, Yuuri leaned down and kissed him deeply.

Viktor felt bad for Yuuri – he was on the receiving end of the world’s soggiest, snottiest kiss. But for Viktor, it was heaven. Yuuri wasn’t going to leave him. He wasn’t disgusted with him. He was right here, showering him with gentle kisses and words of love.

 _I don’t deserve you,_ he thought sadly as they parted. He rested his forehead on Yuuri’s chest. _But I am selfish. I want to be with you forever,_ zolotse.

He wished it wasn’t so hard to say those words out loud.

*

They left for the rink early, knowing full well that they wouldn’t be coming home as easily, once the Russian media woke up and started looking for them. Viktor Nikiforov wasn’t that difficult to find. Yuuri refused to release Viktor’s hand during their walk, clutching him like he thought letting him go would cause Armageddon.

They were surprised to find Yakov waiting for them at the rink’s edge, sporting the same bags and red eyes as Viktor and Yuuri.

“What happened?” he demanded of Viktor.

“I wish I knew,” Viktor said. “I swear, I haven’t spoken with Daniil recently. He hasn’t tried to contact me in a few years.”

“Why did you never mention the photos?”

Viktor snorted in spite of himself. “Compared to everything else he put me through, the pictures were the least of my concerns. Until now.”

“Until now,” Yakov nodded in agreement. He heaved a sigh. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it – the cat’s out of the bag. I suggest you spend the morning preparing some sort of statement. Let me read over it before you speak with anyone, alright?”

“I need to practice my routines,” Viktor reminded him. “The European Championships are happening in less than a month, and Yuuri needs to train for the Four Continents.”

“Your routines can wait. I’ll train Yuuri today. If I see you on the ice, I’ll send you into another retirement whether you like it or not. You’ll hurt yourself if you try to skate now. Go get some paper and write down something to tell those media sharks.”

*

Sure enough, by mid-morning, the foyer of the skating rink was packed with new anchors and journalists. Viktor’s rinkmates complained about having to push their way through to get to the changing rooms. 

Luckily, the employees at the front desk had been through an emergency or two, and managed to keep the journalists from invading the rink. Viktor relished in the quiet, knowing it would be the last he would have for a long time. But knowing that the journalists were there waiting for him… it was like trying to appreciate nice weather while standing at the base of a dangerously fractured dam.

His rinkmate’s reactions to the news varied. Yurio thought it was a joke at first.

“That’s fucked up,” he said once Viktor confirmed the truth. 

Viktor smiled weakly. Leave it to the almost-seventeen-year-old to effortlessly summarize exactly how he felt.

Mila sat with him for a while, patiently helping him put his thoughts into words when his mind wandered.

After an hour or so, once Viktor insisted that Mila return to her training, Georgi skated over to the edge of the rink where Viktor straddled a bench, surrounded by crumpled balls of paper.

“How are you doing?” Georgi asked nervously, leaning against the low rink wall.

“As well as can be expected,” Viktor told him honestly and Georgi nodded, looking like he wanted to be sick. 

After Georgi told his parents about Viktor’s abusive night with Daniil, their relationship had strained to the point that they rarely spoke to each other, exacerbated only by Viktor’s quick move out of the Popovich household. They were never as close as they had been after all that. However, sharing a coach and rink, both had adopted a tone of civility when addressing the other. This was the first time in a long while that either one of them had asked a direct personal question to the other. Surprisingly, it felt like fitting back into an old pair of comfortable sneakers.

“My mom told me to pass on her love,” Georgi continued. “And demanded that you tell her if you need anything. Don’t be surprised if she bombards you with lasagna and borsht to last for weeks.”

“She’s sweet.”

“She misses having you around,” Georgi shrugged. “Since my brother and his wife don’t visit very often, and I’m always busy, she thinks a lot about you too.”

Viktor couldn’t help but smile at this. He hadn’t really seen Mr. and Mrs. Popovich after he’d moved into his first apartment except for a few times when they came to the rink to see Georgi. The fact that they still worried about him touched him.

He stood from the bench, leaning to the side to stretch his shoulders. “Well, I’d better go say something to the media before they implode.”

“Good luck, Viktor,” Georgi said before skating off.

Viktor hailed Yuuri over, and Yakov joined them, reading through Viktor’s statement while Viktor and Yuuri talked.

“I’m going to make my statement and go home early,” Viktor told his fiancé. “I’m not doing much good here. Will you be okay working with Yakov today?”

“I’ll be fine,” Yuuri insisted, interlacing his and Viktor’s fingers. “Do you want me to pick up dinner on my way home?”

“That would be great,” Viktor said. “I didn’t plan on not being able to go shopping, and we’re running low on food. Sorry, I know it was my turn to go.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yuuri smiled. “If it makes you feel better, you can take a rain check and do it on one of my days. Good luck. Call me if you need anything.”

Viktor grinned before leaning in to kiss his fiancé.

“Get a room!” Yurio shouted from the other side of the rink and Viktor snorted into Yuuri’s mouth.

“Sorry,” he coughed, and Yuuri chuckled.

“This looks good, Vitya,” Yakov said, handing Viktor’s statement back to him. “I’ll accompany you. Are you ready to go now?”

“I am.”

Viktor gave Yuuri a final peck on the cheek before sending him back out onto the ice. Then he grabbed his bag and he and Yakov went through the changing rooms to get to the foyer.

Flashes of light marked the moment the journalists saw him. The shouting was worse than anything he’d experienced before. Still, he was used to the media attention, and tried to smile through his discomfort.

When the shouting petered out, Viktor cleared his throat.

“Thank you for your questions,” he began. “As I’m sure you are aware, several pictures were leaked in the early hours of the morning, depicting me in an indecent light. Unfortunately, I can confirm that these are not a hoax, but a product of a tumultuous time in my life. There are undoubtedly supporters of mine who are upset to learn of the existence of these photos, and I would like to take the opportunity to apologize directly to them. The highest priority in my skating career has always been my fans, and to know that there are those out there who have been disillusioned and disappointed by these photos is agonizing. I am very, truly sorry, and hope that you will not let this news color your opinion of me. As more information is undoubtedly uncovered regarding the origin of the photos, I ask for privacy and respect. Until I have the opportunity to speak with law enforcement, I will not answer additional questions.”

“I have nothing to add on the matter,” Coach Yakov announced, silencing the questions that still cropped up once Viktor finished speaking. “To reiterate, I ask for the media and fans to respect my student’s rights to privacy in this difficult time. Thank you.”

Coach Yakov placed a protective arm around Viktor’s shoulder and ushered him through the sea of journalists. Viktor wasn’t sure what to do with his face – normally he would smile at as many of the cameras as he could, but this didn’t really seem like the time for that. He settled for a neutral expression, hoping that his eyes didn’t convey too much of the pain he felt.

Viktor had left the car keys with Yuuri, so Yakov helped him to hail a cab. It was nice to be able to lean back and clear his mind while he waited to reach home.

“Makkachin?” he called when he walked through the front door. “Here, girl.”

When he didn’t hear the familiar scrape of Makkachin’s nails on the wooden floors, Viktor clenched his eyebrows.

“Makka?” he called again and paused to listen, dread growing in his chest. Something didn’t feel right. He dropped his bag at the door and walked into the kitchen. “Makka!”

A high-pitched whine issued from the nearby coat closet.

“Makkachin!” Viktor called, completely astounded as he opened the door. “How did you get trapped in the— Makka!”

Makkachin squeezed out of the closet, her tail between her legs, dried blood around her muzzle. Viktor kneeled down to inspect the wound and found a zip tie nestled among her red curls, effectively keeping her jaw bound together.

“Oh my god, Makka, what happened?!” Viktor asked her as he reached for the drawer where he kept the scissors. As carefully as he could, he cut the zip tie and peeled it away from her inflamed skin. Makkachin whined while he worked, but she stayed completely still. He would have to take her to the vet to get her checked for infection, but then another uncomfortable realization swept over him.

Someone had done this. Someone had been in his house.

Were they still here?

“Come out!” Viktor shouted, desperately hoping that no one was there to obey the order. Makkachin growled and ran into the bedroom, barking.

His body tense, blood pounding in his ears, Viktor followed her. When he saw what she was barking at, he lost control of his legs and collapsed to the ground.

A younger man with long brown hair was hanging by the neck from the light fixture over his and Yuuri’s bed. The lifeless body turned slightly in the breeze from the open window, and when it rotated to face him, he saw a piece of paper pinned to the man’s jacket. On it, a single word was written in Russian: ‘Traitor’. Worse still was the fact that when Viktor finally brought himself to examine the victim’s face, he recognized him.

“Oh god….” He put a hand to his mouth and leaned against the doorframe. “Oh my god… _Dmitry_ ….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. (•_•;)
> 
> Yeah, so I feel _really_ bad for Dmitry. I swear, he was going to be a one-time character... but then he just kind of became my fall guy. Sorry Dmitry. RIP.
> 
>  _zolotse_ \- my gold (it's an actual Russian pet name, according to my Google search... perfect, right?!)
> 
> Sorry for the kind of late post - I forgot to set my alarm and was late to work today, so I had to stay later. :C
> 
> Also, I finished the final chapter last night - it will be 18 chapters long, total! Though I do want to go back and rewrite a few things in chapter 17 that I'm not really satisfied with. But it's "done"! :D
> 
> =(ˆ•ㅅ•ˆ)=


	15. I Should Have Known Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Shock symptoms, disturbing imagery, crime scene

CHAPTER FIFTEEN – I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER

_I have to do something. I have to do something._ Viktor’s mind repeated the mantra, yet his body refused to act. A thousand emotions swirled around in Viktor, yet all he could do was watch Dmitry’s body swing from the light fixture, his face swollen and contorted, his tongue lolling past blue lips.

 _Move,_ Viktor told himself, but he couldn’t. The only motion his body could muster was an uncontrollable trembling. He wanted to be sick. He needed to call the police. He needed to call Yuuri. He needed to get Dmitry down. But he couldn’t move.

“I’m home!” Yuuri called and Viktor could hear the rustling of grocery bags being set on the kitchen counter. The sky outside had gone dark. When had that happened?

“Makkachin, you’re bleeding!” Viktor heard Yuuri. Oh. He hadn’t taken Makkachin to the vet. “Viktor? Are you here?”

Yuuri’s footsteps shuffled closer.

 _Warn him,_ Viktor thought, but he couldn’t speak. He sensed Yuuri’s presence approaching from down the hall.

“Why are you on the floor? Viktor, are you— _oh my god!_ ”

Yuuri launched himself onto the bed and grabbed Dmitry’s legs, letting the rope around his neck go slack. The body had already gone into rigor mortis, and barely moved when it was jostled. Yuuri used one hand to fumble for the rope.

“Viktor, help me get this off of him!”

Viktor didn’t move.

“ _Viktor!_ ”

When Viktor didn’t respond, Yuuri yanked the rope, pulling a part of the light fixture with it, but effectively detaching Dmitry from his restraint. Paint chips dusted Yuuri’s dark hair as he lowered Dmitry’s stiff body onto the bed as gracefully as if he were performing a pairs skating routine.

Suddenly, Yuuri was kneeling in front of Viktor, a firm hand on his shoulder.

“…n you hear me?”

The direct contact snapped him out of his shock. All of the emotions that had clouded his thoughts rose to the forefront, attacking him simultaneously. Yuuri wrapped his arms around Viktor and rocked him gently while Viktor shivered and cried.

“It’s okay, it’s okay…” he whispered, even though they both knew that it wasn’t. “You don’t need to see this. Can you walk? Let’s go to the living room.”

“He was here, he was here…” Viktor babbled as he allowed Yuuri to support most of his weight and drag him to the couch. “Nowhere is safe. He’s going to kill me too, I know he’ll be back. I have to leave, I have to get away….”

“Calm down,” Yuuri said evenly. “I’m going to call the police. See, Makkachin is here. She’ll guard you. You’re safe, Viktor, I promise. I’ll be right back, okay? Makkachin, stay.”

Makkachin hopped onto the couch and all but crowded Viktor’s lap. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her fur. He should have taken her to the vet to get her wound checked. The swelling around her muzzle had gone down some, but he wanted to make sure the cuts would heal. He was a terrible father.

“I’m so sorry, Makka…” he mumbled.

Several police officers and paramedics arrived a few minutes later, rushing in and out of the bedroom. Viktor had to turn away as they wheeled Dmitry’s body out on a gurney, hidden by a sheet.

 _I’m so sorry, Dmitry,_ Viktor thought. _I should have done something to help you._

One of the paramedics kneeled down next to Viktor.

“Sir, can you hear me?”

Viktor didn’t respond, not sure how to make his tongue work. The paramedic reached out a tentative hand and lifted his chin. After staring at him long and hard, he turned to his colleague.

“He’s in shock,” he announced.

“Can you help him?” Yuuri asked in broken Russian, appearing suddenly in Viktor’s peripheral.

“What’s his name?”

“Viktor.”

“Viktor, my name is Ivan. I’m going to touch you again, okay?” The paramedic reached out a hand and squeezed his gently. “Can you feel that?”

Viktor swallowed and nodded.

“Good,” Ivan said. He leaned over and pressed Viktor’s feet down.

“Can you feel the ground beneath your feet?”

“Yes…” Viktor croaked. He felt like a child, being asked such simple questions, but somehow, they helped. Even when everything around him had turned on it’s side, the ground was still there, supporting him. It made him feel substantial.

“Good,” Ivan said again. He grabbed a coffee mug from the nearby table. “Can you tell me what color this is?”

“It… it’s blue….”

“Excellent. And what is your friend’s name?”

“Y-Yuuri….”

Yuuri smiled when Viktor said his name. Another set of footsteps joined them. One of the police officers.

“Is he okay to answer questions? We need to take a statement.”

“You can try,” Ivan the paramedic answered. “Viktor, the police need to ask you some questions. They want to make sure they can keep you safe. May they speak with you?”

Viktor nodded and the police officer approached him.

“May I get your full name, including your patronymic name, please?”

“V-Viktor Vasilyovich Nikiforov,” he said, his voice stronger, yet shaky.

“Mr. Nikiforov, what time did you arrive home today?”

“I… I don’t remember….”

“Sir,” Yuuri said, switching the conversation to English. “We have security cameras around the perimeter of the house. If you’d like, I can get the recordings for you and show you what we have from today.”

“Thank you,” the officer said and Yuuri went off, presumably to retrieve the recordings.

“Mr. Nikiforov, did you know the victim personally?”

“Yes,” Viktor said. “He was… he was a childhood friend. Dmitry Petrov.”

“Were you close with him?

“Not really. We haven’t spoken in over ten years.”

Yuuri returned, carrying his phone and holding it out for the officer to see. “Here, sir. You can see two men sneaking in through the window at around nine this morning, but only one of them left through the front door forty minutes later. Viktor came home… here, at two-thirty.”

“Who was the other man?” the officer asked. “The one that left?”

“Daniil Andreev,” Viktor cut in. “My ex-coach. Dmitry’s coach.”

“Sir, we need to know everything. Can you start from the beginning?”

He lowered his head and clenched his eyes shut. He felt his heart rate increase. He hated himself, he hated the influence Daniil’s had on the way he lived his life, even years after the last time they’d spoken. Viktor felt himself shattering with each new breath he took. He’d told Yuuri everything this morning, but that had been relatively easy – he trusted Yuuri with his life. The thought of telling the officer… to him, he may as well have been announcing it on live television.

Yuuri lowered himself next to Viktor, taking his hand and stroking the skin with his thumb. Viktor took a deep breath. When he began talking, he stared only at his fiancé, telling himself that no one else was in the room – it was just him and the man he loved.

Yuuri never once looked away.

*

Viktor found it strange to hear the police speak about his bedroom as a crime scene. After haunting the couch for a little while longer, Yuuri suggested they find a motel for the next few nights. Viktor agreed.

“Stay here,” Yuuri spoke softly to him. “I’ll go pack some clothes for the two of us.”

Yuuri had to get special clearance from the police to enter the room again and rummage around, and after a few minutes, Viktor heard a shout and Yuuri ran out of the room, carrying a piece of paper.

“I found a note!” he exclaimed to the police officer. “It was in our sock drawer.”

The police read over it silently, occasionally glancing up to stare at Viktor.

“May I read it?” Viktor asked.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, in your state,” the officer explained. “I’m sorry, but we can’t let you remove anything else from the room. There may be other notes or traps, and we’ll need to sweep it before we can allow you back in.”

*

“What did the letter say?” Viktor pressed Yuuri as he loaded Makkachin into the car and climbed into the passenger seat. Yuuri turned the key in the ignition and backed out of the driveway without talking. When they were finally speeding off towards St. Petersburg, he spoke.

“It wasn’t very long,” he said, side-eying Viktor to gauge his reaction. “It said something like, ‘I’ve caught the traitorous bastard who destroyed our secret.’ There were one or two more sentences, but it was pretty much more of the same. What I’m curious about is, does that mean the… the guy… is he the one who posted those photographs of you?”

“Probably.”

“I thought you said he was a friend.”

“He was,” Viktor said. 

Their conversation petered out as they both lost themselves in their thoughts. Viktor couldn’t get the image of Dmitry out of his head. The teenaged boy he’d known had become a gaunt man after years of psychological abuse at the hands of a monster. His hair, though grown long, had thinned, and his skin had been an unhealthy tone – of course, having been strangled to death may have helped that along. But Viktor would have bet money that the shadows under his friend’s eyes had been there even before he died.

So Dmitry had posted the photographs? Viktor’s righteous rage turned into stomach-dropping pity and guilt. If Dmitry had spent the last decade being abused by Daniil, then perhaps this had been his way of finally fighting back. Or maybe he hoped that Viktor would try to take legal action against Daniil, sending him to prison and simultaneously freeing Dmitry. No matter what his reasoning, Viktor doubted that Dmitry expected Daniil to kill him before he could get help. 

What about Dmitry’s family? When they’d known each other, Dmitry lived with his father and grandmother. Where had they been? Would Dmitry’s death mean anything to them?

This was all Viktor’s fault. If he’d come out with the truth sooner, if he’d pressed charges, maybe Dmitry would still be alive. If anyone on the outside could have helped him, it was Viktor, and he’d  
gone on with his life, leaving Dmitry to a torment they both understood so well.

“Please don’t,” Yuuri mumbled, breaking Viktor from his thoughts.

“Don’t what?”

“You’re blaming yourself for what happened. Don’t. I don’t understand the whole story, but if there’s one thing I do know, your friend died because of that man, not because of you.”

“How did you know what I was thinking?”

“Because I know you,” Yuuri suggested. “Let’s stop and buy some pajamas and a change of clothes. I have a feeling we’re not going to be getting our own clothes back for a day or two.”

*

Viktor wasn’t used to being the one who needed help. With Yuuri’s anxious mind, usually it was Viktor prodding him along, encouraging him and pitching in when Yuuri felt poorly. Now that the tides had turned, he couldn’t help but be amazed at his fiancé’s fortitude. 

After they settled into their motel room, Yuuri hooked Makkachin back onto her leash.

“I’m going to go find an emergency vet for Makka,” he explained. “I want to make sure we get these cuts cleaned out.”

“Okay,” Viktor said, standing up from the bed where he’d collapsed. But Yuuri shook his head.

“You stay here,” Yuuri commanded. “You’ve had a really hard day, and I want you to have a chance to clear your head.”

“You’re grounding me?” Viktor asked.

Yuuri gave a weak sideways smile. “Think of it as a forced mini-staycation. See the bag on the chair? Look in there – I bought a few things at the store for you. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Will you be okay without me here?”

“I’ll be fine,” Viktor insisted. “I’m sorry for making you do so much today.”

Yuuri leaned in to kiss Viktor, but hesitated as if he was worried he might upset him. Viktor kissed Yuuri instead. When they parted, Yuuri gave him such a gentle look, it made Viktor’s knees go weak.

“I love you,” Yuuri said. “No matter what tomorrow brings, I will stand by you. I promise.”

With that, he shepherded Makkachin out of the room, leaving Viktor by himself. 

To distract himself, Viktor went to the bag that Yuuri had left behind and pulled out a package of his favorite cookies. He only treated himself to these every once in a while. Yuuri even bought the ones with hazelnuts in them. Also, a bottle of nice wine and two plastic travel wine glasses… ah, so Yuuri wanted some too, when he got back. He also pulled out a couple of sandwiches – in all the confusion, they hadn’t eaten dinner. Without much thought, he ripped the plastic off of one and bit into it. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was.

At the bottom of the bag, Viktor found a plastic-wrapped bath bomb, some tea lights and matches. It seemed so heartless, he thought, to enjoy a nice bath and good food after having witnessed the murder of one of his childhood friends. Carefully, he replaced the bath bomb and curled up under the covers of the bed, munching on the last of his sandwich. He couldn’t sleep, so he took to staring at the cheerful picture on the opposite wall.

When Yuuri returned, it was well past midnight. Makkachin jumped on the bed, freshly bandaged. Viktor patted her head.

“Hey sweetheart, are you feeling better?”

“They flushed the wounds and gave her a couple of stitches that will dissolve on their own,” Yuuri explained as he draped his coat over the TV. “She’ll be fine.”

“Thank you for taking her.”

“Of course.” Yuuri frowned when he saw the unused groceries. “You didn’t take your bath.”

“No,” Viktor said, sitting up in bed. “It just seemed… wrong.”

“What’s wrong about it?” Yuuri argued. “You’re taking care of yourself. You’re relaxing.”

“He’s still out there, Yuuri,” Viktor said. “He murdered his lover – _his victim_ – in cold blood, and then escaped. The more I think about it, the more I realize… if Yakov hadn’t invited me to be his student, if I hadn’t tried fighting back… that could have been me swinging from the light fixture. How can I relax?”

Yuuri sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I understand,” he said. “Or I guess I don’t. But I’m trying. Honestly, I never thought I’d have to help someone I cared about with something this… this terrifying. I wish I knew how to help you, Viktor.”

 _Me too,_ Viktor thought. He leaned forward and put his temple on Yuuri’s shoulder, pulling him into a hug. “Just… just meet me halfway. That’s all you need to do.”

They sat for a while, enjoying the quiet moment alone. Makkachin rested her muzzle in Viktor’s lap and he freed an arm to stroke her gently. Yuuri leaned his head over, resting it on top of Viktor’s.

 _This is my family_ , Viktor thought, his stomach warming at the sudden thought. _It’s small, and maybe a little unconventional, but it’s mine, and it’s pure. No matter what happens, Daniil can’t take this from me. I won’t let him._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viktor: *in Stitch voice* This is my family. It is little and broken, but still good. Yeah, still good. 
> 
> #relationshipgoals, minus the angst and murder. :3
> 
> Sorry for the cliffhanger last chapter!
> 
> So I realized last night AFTER I posted yesterday's chapter that I skipped a chapter number in my Word document, going from chapter 16 to 18, so I had 17 chapters! D: BUT the content that I want to add to will probably be worth another chapter, so you'll get your 18 chapters in the end! XD
> 
> Oh, and shoutout to harrietamidala for noticing that all the chapter names are Beatles song titles! :D
> 
> =(ˆ•ㅅ•ˆ)=


	16. You Never Give Me Your Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor faces the after-effects of the #nikiforovscandal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Disturbing thoughts; PTSD symptoms are present, but not prevalent; legal proceedings (I don't know if that last one counts, but I figured I'd put it just in case)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN – YOU NEVER GIVE ME YOUR MONEY

For the second morning in a row, Viktor’s phone rang before he was ready to be awake. The programed ringtone was a little music-box version of favorite childhood song, _La petite poule grise_ that almost sent him straight back to sleep. For a moment, Viktor couldn’t remember who the song was programmed for. Then he remembered and his hand shot out quickly to answer the phone before it stopped ringing.

“ _Oncle_ François?” he croaked.

“Oh Viktor, thank god!” Uncle François breathed. He sounded like he'd been crying. “Oh god, I was so afraid – we thought we would never hear your voice again!”

Viktor sat up, his back against the headboard.

“Why?” Viktor whispered in French. He propped his phone on his shoulder and used his free hand to stroke the hair from sleeping Yuuri’s forehead. His fiancé sighed in his sleep and nuzzled his pillow. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you right away, it’s been a long—”

“Viktor, we thought you’d killed yourself!” Uncle François explained. Viktor heard the panicked voices of his other family members in the background, demanding Uncle François to relay any information.

“When the news came out about those photos… they didn’t give a lot of information. Maurice signed up for a Tweety account so we could try to see if you’d posted anything, and he found that someone twitted a status picture of your house. There were ambulances everywhere, and a body on a gurney—”

Viktor was already scrolling through his Twitter feed to find the picture. It didn't take long before it appeared, just as Uncle François described. The picture was from the night before – the gurney carrying Dmitry’s body covered in a white sheet was being lifted into the back of one of the ambulances. The creator of the post left the message: _Um, guys, this is in front of @v-nikiforov’s house. #isheokay #RIPmaybe #nikiforovscandal_

At least they had the decency to put an emoticon in front of his house number, Viktor thought bitterly. The comments ranged from condolences to admonishing the original poster for uploading the picture. It was an out of body experience to see some people talking about him as if he were dead.

He quickly sent out a new tweet: _Thank you to my fans for your concern. I am alive and ask for privacy. -V_

“Viktor?” Uncle François asked.

“Sorry, I was sending out a tweet,” Viktor explained. “I never thought I would have to tweet the words ‘I am alive.’”

“Thank god you are,” Uncle François said. “Your grandmother wants to talk to you—”

Viktor could hear the phone being ripped out of his uncle’s hands.

“ _Mon bébé_?!” his grandmother’s voice echoed through the phone.

“It’s me, Mémé,” Viktor said. “I’m sorry for scaring you, but I’m okay.”

“No you’re not, _mon bébé_ ,” she said. “Who would be, after all this? How do you put this damn thing on speaker?” There was a click as Viktor figured Uncle François helped her achieve her goal. She picked right up where she’d left off. “What happened? What is all this with the photos? Are they real?”

The last person Viktor wanted to explain everything to was his grandmother, but after making her think that he was dead, he figured he owed her the truth. Even so, he couldn’t help but pigeon-foot around the full story. Mémé was too sharp, and started asking questions. He knew she knew that she wasn’t getting the full truth, and he finally gave in. After he began his real explanation of his experiences with Daniil, his family went quiet. Every once in a while, he heard a sob or a sniff, and dearly wished he could reach through the phone and hug them all, especially since his grandmother was still reeling from Pépé’s death last summer.

When he finished speaking, no one picked up the conversation for a few moments. Finally, Mémé cut in.

“Is anyone with you right now? Are you eating?”

“I’m with my fiancé,” Viktor said. “I had a sandwich last night.”

“Not enough!” Mémé scoffed. “You’re so tall, you’ll waste away on just a sandwich. Can your fiancé cook? Promise me you’ll eat more! I can send you money if you need more groceries.”

She was sniffling between words. Viktor had never been filled with so much love for his grandmother before. She’d just thought her only grandson was dead, and now she wanted to make sure he was eating properly and being taken care of.

“I have plenty of money, Mémé,” Viktor reminded her. “We’re staying in a motel right now, but when restaurants start opening, we’ll go have a big breakfast.”

“Good.” His Mémé sniffed again. “Your fiancé… what kind of man is he?”

“The best kind, Mémé,” Viktor assured her.

“And has he been supporting you through this?”

“Yes. He’s barely left my side.”

“Good. I want to talk to him.”

“He’s asleep, Mémé. And he doesn’t speak French.”

“Wake him up. What can he speak? English?”

In the end, Viktor had to shake Yuuri from his dreams and surrender his phone. Yuuri groggily tried to hold a conversation in English without sounding too confused, even though he kept raising his eyebrow at Viktor as if to say, _Why the heck did you put this old lady in my ear right when I woke up?_ Viktor could only shrug in an apology. Based on Yuuri’s replies, Viktor guessed that Mémé was giving his fiancé an impromptu cooking lesson. Finally, Yuuri passed the phone back to Viktor.

“He’s a good one,” Mémé said.

“I’m glad you approve,” Viktor chuckled in English. “Sorry, he’s not much of a morning person.” 

Yuuri, who had face-planted back into his pillow, grabbed a spare pillow and whacked Viktor with it without looking.

“Bring him with you the next time you’re in Paris. Do you have any competitions coming up near here?”

“I’ll have to look, I don’t remember. But I’ll call you again, Mémé. I love you.”

“I love you too, _mon bébé_.”

“We all do, _mon petit chou_ ,” Uncle François added. Viktor had forgotten he was listening in. “If you need a break, or some time away, please come visit us. You always have a place here.”

Viktor thanked them and said goodbye a few time before finally hanging up. He set his phone back on the nightstand and curled up against Yuuri’s back.

“Congratulations. I think you passed the grandmother test,” he said as he wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s middle.

“What a relief,” Yuuri groaned sarcastically. Viktor couldn’t help but laugh and kissed the nape of Yuuri’s neck before settling back down to get a few more hours of sleep.

*

Watching the news come in about what had been dubbed ‘The Nikiforov Scandal’ was like watching an uncontrollable, unstoppable, slow-motion car accident. He could predict, with almost exact accuracy, which parts of his life the media and fans would be able to uncover, and in what order. With each Twitter refresh, new pieces of news about his life flashed across the screen. Soon #nikiforovscandal was trending.

Somehow, someone had found out that Dmitry had been murdered in his house, and while some suspected that Viktor had gone off the deep end and done it himself, others weren’t so sure. Daniil’s name showed up in conversation, the link having been made between him and Dmitry. Viktor watched helplessly as the world speculated about his relationship with his ex-coach, uploading old footage of him sitting with Daniil at the kiss-and-cry right after Viktor had performed Madame Butterfly, and background shots of them sitting in the stands during other performances, Daniil’s hand on Viktor’s thigh when he didn’t realize that someone was filming.

“What a nightmare,” Viktor said, setting his phone on the motel desk and rubbing his eyes.

“I keep telling you to put your phone away,” Yuuri said. He sat cross-legged on the bed, helping himself to the Chinese takeout he’d just gone brought back. Apparently, journalists had followed him to the motel, so he’d been forced to take the elevator to a different floor and then use the stairs to throw them off his trail.

“I want to know what people know about me,” Viktor said.

“What if you put your phone down and ask me for updates?”

“You’ll just tell me not to worry.”

Yuuri took a bite of a fried spring roll, thinking hard. “Yeah, that’s probably true. Now come eat, before your grandma emerges from your phone and tells me off for starving you.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “Are you intimidated by my grandmother, _zolotse_?”

“Just eat.”

“Yes, sir.”

Viktor didn’t have much of an appetite, but he ate some of the rice that Yuuri passed to him, as well as a few string beans. After dinner, Yuuri took Makkachin out for a walk.

“I feel like a prisoner,” Viktor complained as he watched Yuuri attach Makkachin’s leash – they’d decided to keep her leash-bound while the prospects of a lot of journalist following them were high. Makkachin hated the leash, having gone so long without one, but Viktor envied that she could even go outside.

“It’ll die down soon. Be right back,” Yuuri promised, giving Viktor a peck on the cheek before leaving. 

Viktor settled on the bed, shuffling through his phone. Social media aside, he’d also had to sift through dozens of phone calls from his friends. Chris called at least three times a day. Yakov, Yuri, and Mila checked in on him regularly as well. Yuuri had also been bombarded by Phichit and his family and friends in Japan. Viktor couldn’t speak to Yuuri’s mom, since her English was about as good as his Japanese, but he still listened while she ranted in her own language – angry on his behalf, according to Yuuri. In the end, she invited him to return to their hot springs, which Viktor thought sounded like an excellent idea.

A couple of days later, the police finally cleared them to return to their home. Because Viktor still couldn’t go outside without the journalists bombarding him, he took to wandering the house, staring at the walls as if he’d never seen them before. Daniil had gotten in here. Dmitry had died in his room. Could he ever stay in this house without thinking those things? He didn’t feel safe here anymore.

Yuuri, who was his constant saving grace in all of this madness, had stripped the bed of all of its sheets, ran them through the laundry twice, and rearranged the furniture so the bed no longer sat directly underneath the now-broken light fixture. Just the subtle change helped Viktor to feel more comfortable.

“How did you know that would make me feel better?” he asked Yuuri.

His fiancé shrugged. “I just figured if it were me having to go through this, I would feel better with a little change. I’m glad it helps.”

Though it helped during his waking hours, Viktor suffered almost constant nightmares. More often than not, he would dream of Dmitry. Sometimes Dmitry would be alive and blaming him for letting him die. Other time, he would be hanging from the light, staring accusingly at Viktor, and would still be there in Viktor’s mind’s eye for several second after he woke screaming.

“God, I’m so sorry Dmitry…” Viktor hiccoughed while Yuuri rubbed his back gently. “It’s my fault. I could have helped him. He would still be alive if I’d just done something.”

“Viktor, it’s not your fault,” Yuuri would say, but the longer the nightmares went on, the less Viktor believed him. He hadn’t even told Yuuri that sometimes he feared being in the same bed as him. He’d picked up the old habit of reaching behind him to check for Daniil the way he had as a teenager. When he felt Yuuri’s body there, he would panic before remembering who it really was. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor said, staring straight forward. “I… I think we need to move. I can’t be in this house anymore. I can’t even go to the bathroom at night without worrying that _he’s_ going to be in the hallway, waiting for me.”

“Then we move,” Yuuri decided immediately. “We’ll call an agent tomorrow. Okay? But you need to get some sleep. It’s starting to be obvious that you’re not getting rest. At this rate, Yakov isn’t going to let you back on the ice.”

He rubbed a thumb under Viktor’s eye, where Viktor knew the shadows had settled in. Viktor took Yuuri’s hand and kissed his knuckles before laying back down and pulling the covers up to his ears.

The next morning, Viktor’s phone rang again. 

“Mr. Nikiforov?” a woman’s voice asked when Viktor picked up. “My name is Officer Volkov with the St. Petersburg Police Department. Do you have a moment?”

“Yes, how can I help you, Officer?” Viktor asked clearly, so Yuuri could pick up some of the Russian. Yuuri’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“Last night, we apprehended and detained a suspect that fits the description of the man who broke into your house last week.”

“You found him?!” Viktor asked and Yuuri walked closer, listening carefully.

“Possibly,” Officer Volkov said. “I would like to request your assistance identifying him. Would you be able to come into the station to confirm the suspect?”

“I… I think so,” Viktor offered halfheartedly. He never wanted to see Daniil again, not even to potentially send him to prison. “The thing is… this man… he’s….”

“I am aware of your history with him,” Officer Volkov said gently. “Please bear in mind, during the I.D. process, you will be behind a one-way window – he won’t know you’re there.”

“A-alright, then,” Viktor finally agreed. They worked out the times for Viktor and Yuuri to arrive at the station and then the call ended.

“That’s great news that they found him,” Yuuri said after a while.

“Yes,” Viktor said glumly.

“Ruble for your thoughts?” Yuuri asked, touching Viktor’s hand.

“I want to press charges,” Viktor sighed. “Not just for the break-in, but for… what he did. It’s just… everything is already so public. If I press charges, everyone will know what happened to me – it won’t be speculation anymore, but fact. I don’t know if… if I can handle that.”

“May I give you my opinion?” Yuuri asked. “From an outside perspective?”

“Of course, my love.”

“If you decide to keep it quiet, I understand, and I will support you,” Yuuri started. “But… given the platform you have, and the media attention, I think you could turn this negative into a positive. I hear stories all the time of coaches that take advantage of their students… maybe it’s time someone spoke out and fought against it.”

“Are you suggesting I be that someone?” Viktor asked.

“It’s just an idea,” Yuuri said quickly and shrugged. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But… I think you could potentially change a lot of lives. Maybe encourage others to come out with their stories, or encourage people like Dmitry to get help.”

The mention of Dmitry was all Viktor needed to hear to really get the cogs working in his head. It was an idea, this one. It would be hard - _very_ hard – to share things that he’d kept secret for so long. Still, even though he couldn’t save Dmitry, that didn’t mean he couldn’t save others. 

Yuuri pushed his bangs back and kissed his forehead. “Don’t give an answer now. Just… think about it. When do we go to the station?”

“You don’t have to come.”

“Yes, I do.”

Viktor smiled. “In an hour.”

“So that gives us half an hour to eat,” Yuuri proclaimed. 

“My grandmother has created a monster.”

*

“That’s him,” Viktor announced to Officer Volkov. He squeezed Yuuri’s hand, doing everything he could to keep from breaking down. “That’s him.”

“Thank you, Mr. Nikiforov,” Officer Volkov said.

Viktor couldn’t take his eyes off of Daniil. For so long, he had been the bane of Viktor’s existence. When he was a teenager, Daniil had seemed so tall, untouchable… godlike. Now that Viktor was grown, and he could truly look at Daniil, knowing that Daniil couldn’t look back, he saw a broken old man, hunched over in his chair. He watched as Daniil picked at his fingernails, obviously waiting to be told what to do. Those hands had hurt Viktor, murdered Dmitry. It was because of this man that Viktor was now facing a world of curious people – even those who didn’t know much about figure skating were reading about him. This… this was never meant to happen. None of it.

He wanted to hurt Daniil, to make him understand even a fraction of the suffering that Viktor endured at his hands. He wondered if they would execute Daniil for his crimes. Could he volunteer to be the one to pull the trigger? Maybe he would miss a few times 'by accident'.

Disturbed at the ferocity of his own thoughts, Viktor squeezed Yuuri's wrist to ground himself. He took a few deep breaths. _This isn't you,_ he admonished himself. _Get a grip, this is what he wants. He wants you to fall apart. Don't do it._

“Viktor,” Yuuri whispered, only loud enough for him and Officer Volkov to hear. “Do you still want to press charges?”

Viktor couldn’t talk. He simply nodded.

“Very well,” Officer Volkov began typing at her laptop. “He’s already being tried for murder in the first degree. Would you like to charge him for breaking an entering?”

“No…” Viktor croaked. “Well, yes. But for abuse too. I had a… a kit done one time after he r…." The word caught in his throat and he coughed a little, hoping to brush it off. "It’s been a while. Could I still use that as evidence?”

“Of course, as long as the hospital still has the records. Would you like to hire your own lawyer? I can get you in touch with a public lawyer if you need one.”

“We’ll hire one, thank you,” Yuuri answered for him.

“That’s fine. Since this is a high-profile case due to the victims' status, I suggest finding one soon. You may be asked to attend the preliminary hearing. Now, there’s one more thing I need to address,” Officer Volkov stood up from her seat and went to a nearby drawer. She pulled out an old envelope in a plastic baggie.

“When the police searched Mr. Andreev’s apartment, they found this stored away. There was a receipt inside with your name and part of your account number on it, so we believe this belongs to you.”

Viktor took the envelope and opened it with shaking fingers. He couldn’t believe it. It was the money Tatiana had left him. The same money Daniil claimed he’d spent the night Viktor left.

“There’s 110,000 rubles missing from the original 500,000 rubles listed on the receipt,” Officer Volkov explained while Viktor leafed through the bills. “You can take the amount in that envelope home with you and work with your lawyer about retrieving the stolen amount. You’re welcome to our reports if you need proof that the money was already missing when you received this envelope.”

“ _S-spasibo,_ ” Viktor breathed.

Half an hour later, he and Yuuri walked out the station, their heads racing with the amount of work that was ahead of them. Viktor found a nearby bench and sank into it, his head in his hands. Yuuri sat next to him, putting a comforting arm around his shoulder. Seeing Daniil had brought back a lot of bad memories that he’d thought he was over. He knew he would have to face him at least at the hearing, and more times if the old man plead innocent. It had been nearly too much to see him again when his ex-coach hadn’t even known he was there.

After a while, Viktor pulled out his phone and began scrolling through pages of searches. Yuuri looked curiously over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m giving you your answer,” Viktor said. He found what he was looking for and showed it to Yuuri. It was a nonprofit sexual assault survivor foundation webpage. Yuuri’s breath stopped when he saw it, and Viktor continued, “This money… my sister left this to me when she died. I could really have used it back when I was with Daniil. But now… I’m comfortable. I have money and a career to be proud of. I’m in the best relationship of my life. I don’t need this anymore and I think Tati would want me to do something meaningful with it. So…”

He took the phone back and clicked the ‘Donate’ page, typing in 1,000,000 rubles, matching Tatiana’s original savings. He filled out his account and contact information and hit ‘send’.

“I’m going to help whoever I can. However I can.” 

Yuuri’s eyes glistened and tears. He let out a cross between a sob and a blubbering laugh. Smiling, Viktor leaned forward and kissed him, because there was nothing left to say that could be put into words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it possible to be both happy and sad at the same time? D:
> 
> So the next chapter hasn't been written yet, because it's going to involve court proceedings, which I'm shite at writing. I'm probably not going to get very technical, but I have to at least have a basic understanding of how it all goes down for a murder/statuary rape case. It's REALLY hard to research Russian court proceedings, so I'll be following the US legal format - I apologize in advance for any inconsistencies! I hope to have the chapter out tomorrow, but it may be a TINY bit late because research.
> 
> I have a few extra smol plots that popped into my head that derive from this story. So I may do some one-shots, even after the actual story is finished. We'll see!!
> 
> Finally, I'm REALLY sorry if I didn't reply to all of your comments! There were so many on different chapters, I got a little disoriented about which ones I'd answered or not! D: Regardless, thank you ALL for your comments! You have no idea how relieved I am that people have been enjoying this story! <3
> 
> =(ˆ•ㅅ•ˆ)=


	17. Come Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor has some meaningful interactions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Not a lot today - mentions of legal proceedings and unfair outcomes. Also mentions of past assault and rape.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – COME TOGETHER

**Figure Skating Legend Viktor Nikiforov Donates $18,000 to a Sexual Assault Foundation**

_Amid the rising speculation that began two weeks ago with the leak of several pornographic photos of living legend Viktor Nikiforov from his teenaged years, the skater answered the gossip in a surprising way – by donating the equivalent of nearly $18,000 to a sexual assault survivor foundation based in his home country of Russia. Though he had originally refrained from speaking with the press, Viktor Nikiforov recently broke his silence. At a press conference, Mr. Nikiforov described a harrowing childhood – one that came as a surprise to millions of his fans worldwide who know him best for his friendly and outgoing nature._

_Mr. Nikiforov spoke of a time in which he was disowned by his family after coming out as homosexual. With nowhere else to turn, he moved in with his childhood coach, Daniil Andreev, for two years. Mr. Andreev was recently apprehended and is awaiting trial on charges of first-degree murder, possession of child pornography, and multiple counts of sexual abuse, Mr. Nikiforov being one of the primary victims._

_“It was the darkest time of my life,” Mr. Nikiforov describes. “My sister, who had always been my pillar, had just been killed in a hit-and-run, so I had nowhere else to go. For a long time, it felt like Daniil was the only one who understood my pain and wanted to help me.”_

_Blackmailed and physically and mentally abused, Mr. Nikiforov explained that he is currently seeing a therapist, fitting in sessions between his figure skating practice – he has assured his fans that he will continue skating this year. This season, he will not only be performing his own routines, but also coaching his student, fellow competitor, and fiancé, Yuuri Katsuki of Japan, who was also present at the press conference, never straying far from Mr. Nikiforov’s side._

_“More than anything, I want to encourage others like me to seek help,” Mr. Nikiforov ended the press conference. “For over ten years, I have been afraid to talk about what happened to me. I understand the desire to keep it hidden, even to think that you don’t deserve to get help. My one hope is that others can hear my story and be inspired to take the big first step to changing their lives for the better.”_

_Many sexual assault survivor foundations across the world have reported an increase in donations since the release of Mr. Nikiforov’s story._

* 

“Two years,” Viktor said flatly as he, Yuuri, Georgi, and Yakov retreated to the coach’s car, having just managed to peel themselves away from the onslaught of journalists surrounding the courthouse. “ _Two years_ to pay back for everything he did to me and Dmitry.”

“He got life for first-degree murder,” Yakov reminded him.

“That almost makes it worse,” Viktor complained. “A life for a life is what he deserves, certainly, but let’s tag two meaningless years onto that sentence to appease that one guy he fucked twelve years ago.”

Yuuri and Yakov flinched at Viktor’s language, but Georgi, who was used to it, joined in on the complaining. “They didn’t even review the rape kit. And after all the trouble it took getting the hospital to dust off the records.”

“And he probably got two years just because my fans would revolt if they didn’t give him anything.”

“Enough, you two,” Yakov growled. He hadn’t started the car yet, but gripped the steering wheel all the same. Viktor knew it ate at him too, the way the case had been treated. But he remained stoic, as usual.

Suddenly, a gentle knock on the passenger window caused the four occupants to jump. Viktor glanced outside to see a sorrowful old man staring back at him. Dmitry’s father, Abram Petrov.

“Stay here,” he said as he exited the car, shutting the door.

“I’m sorry, you’re probably wanting to leave,” the old man said. “But I wanted to speak with you, if that’s alright.”

“Of course it is,” Viktor said. He remembered Dmitry’s father from his junior days, when both he and Dmitry’s grandmother would accompany the young skater to competitions and practice. Viktor had envied how wholesome Dmitry’s family was, despite the fact that it consisted of just his father and grandmother. They both had been bright-eyed and supportive, cheering loudly whenever Dmitry took to the ice.

Now Abram stood hunched and old, his son and mother both passed on, leaving him to carry the burden of their loss.

“I know it doesn’t mean much, coming from me,” Viktor started, “but I am so sorry.”

Abram shook his head. “Coming from you, it’s the most meaningful. You’re the only person who can possibly understand even an inkling of what my son endured at the hands of that devil in human skin. I knew my boy suffered from mental issues – he never really came around, not even for his grandmother’s funeral. I just thought he was working through things himself. I had… I had no idea what was really happening. I should have been more attentive. I should have been a better father.”

Abram laughed bitterly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to unload all of this on you. You’ve got your own issues you need to sort through.”

“I’m glad to speak with you,” Viktor contradicted. He’d nodded to Abram during the court proceedings, and shook his hand after Daniil’s sentence was read. But to speak with Dmitry’s remaining family… it meant more than he was sure the man realized. “And please don’t blame yourself for what happened. It’s like you said, Daniil was a devil who knew how to slither his way around the system, and how best to keep his victims quiet. I’ve been going through my list of _‘I should haves’_ too, but I’m learning it doesn’t do any good to think about what I could have happened. It’s passed. The best thing to do is move forward.”

Abram nodded, his jaw tightening as he gritted his teeth, but didn’t say anything.

“And for the record, the only reason Daniil is behind bars is because, in the end, Dmitry found the courage to fight back. Not even I could bring myself to do that, and I wasn’t with him as long. It was really brave.”

“I just wish it hadn’t been at your expense,” Abram said. “I’m very sorry that my son brought you back into this.”

Viktor glanced down at Yuuri, who was watching him through the car window. He smiled gently at his fiancé. 

“I won’t deny that it was hard. I was forced to face things that I would have been happy keeping tucked away for the rest of my life. But I have the support I need to keep going, and a new path set for me.”

“I saw the news about your donation,” Abram said.

“Exactly,” Viktor said. “I have the platform I need to help others like me and Dmitry. There will be less children enduring these hardships because of him. Dmitry is a hero.”

“That’s a very sugar-coated way to think of it,” Abram commented.

“I suppose you’re right,” Viktor shrugged. “But nothing in my life has ever been sugar-coated. I’m allowing myself a free pass on this one. I think you should allow that for yourself too.”

“Thank you,” Abram nodded, as if Viktor had released him from some sort of contract he’d made with himself. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Here. I can't afford 1,000,000 rubles, but I wanted to contribute too. Can you donate this for me?”

“You can go online and do it…” Viktor began, but Abram shook his head.

“I never understood computers. And besides, it would be better coming from you.”

“May I donate it in Dmitry’s name?”

“I…” Abram said. “Yes, I think that would be… nice.”

He held out his hand.

“Thank you, Viktor. And good luck. I know you’re putting my boy’s soul at ease.”

Viktor didn’t trust himself to speak. Dmitry’s father was the only one in the world who could have said such a thing and have him believe it was true. He felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest. Gulping down his sorrow, he nodded and shook Abram’s hand. They regarded each other for another moment before Abram turned and walked away. Viktor burned the memory into his mind – the stooped back of a man who had lost everything, and still had the courage to keep fighting.

*

**Nikiforov Scandal Closure - A Life Sentence Passed for Daniil Andreev**

Viktor read the headline that Chris had texted him, followed by a short message: _Is a ‘congratulations’ appropriate for something like this? I hope so, because I don’t know what else to say. How are you feeling about everything?_

Viktor texted back: _Still numb. But Yuuri and I are moving, so putting all of the papers in order is keeping my mind busy._

_Where are you moving? Japan?_

_Just across the city. We found a house with a small yard, so Makkachin can run around. Yuuri also wants to get another dog. Did I tell you that he named his last dog after me? His friend Yuuko let it slip._

_Really?! That’s both hilarious and adorable._

Viktor smiled. He looked over to the living area where Yuuri was crashed face-down on the couch, surrounded by boxes filled with their knickknacks. Makkachin rested on top of him, her paws twitching from a dream.

His phone buzzed again. Chris continued: _Are you still competing at the European Championships?_

_Yeah._

_Best bring your A-game,_ mon cher. _My routine kicks ass this year. I look forward to winning gold._

_Don’t get ahead of yourself. Yuuri and Yurio are big contenders too._

_Mere children._

_Says the man who lost to both of them last season._

_Touché._

_I have to go. Still a lot of packing to do._

_I expect an invite to your new place once you’ve settled in._

_You’re always welcome, Chris. Take care._

_You too, Viktor. See you at the Championships._

*

Everyone turned their heads when Viktor went crashing to the ice during practice.

“Ow,” he groaned loudly as he lay still, waiting for his brain to catch up with what happened. He’d just been practicing a flying sit spin – nothing major. There must have been a grove in the ice that caught his blade or… something. 

Georgi reached him first.

“You okay?” Georgi asked, offering his hand.

“Yeah,” Viktor huffed as he allowed Georgi to pull him to his feet. The two of them stood awkwardly for a while while the others picked up with their practice again. “Thank you.”

“No problem. It’s been a while since I saw you fall.”

Viktor stretched backwards, trying to pop his spine. “My old bones aren’t used to it anymore.”

“Come on, I’m a day younger than you. You’re basically calling me old too.”

“Well we are,” Viktor grinned. “And when I said thank you, I meant about your support. Not just at the trial, but before. When we were young. I never really… thanked you for saving me that night. I was angry that you inserted yourself into my business, and stopped talking to you because of it. It was juvenile – I’m sorry.”

Georgi shrugged, blushing a little. “I told you then and I’ll tell you now – I don’t regret what I did. You’ve come a long way, Viktor. A lot of it, you’ve done on your own. But you have people that care about you. We want to see you happy.”

A sudden thought struck Viktor. 

“Yuuri and I moved into our new place last week. A lot of things are still in boxes so it’s kind of messy, but… would you and your parents like to come over for dinner this weekend?”

Georgi beamed. “We would absolutely love to. They keep asking about you, like they don’t believe me when I say that you’re doing better. Seeing you for themselves would put them at ease.”

“Bring your girlfriend too. What’s her name?”

“Yuliya.”

“Please feel free to invite her—”

“OI!” Yurio growled as he skated by. “If you’re here to skate, then skate. If you want to talk like old babushkas, then get off the ice!”

“ _Bratik_ ,” Georgi mumbled.

“What was that, Pompadour?”

“Nothing at all,” Georgi said. He grabbed Viktor’s shoulder and gave it a supportive shake before they both parted ways. Viktor took a deep breath and place his hands on his hips, allowing momentum to send him slowly across the ice. Little by little, he was taking back control, reestablishing connections that he’d neglected. Everyone had been so understanding, and the kindness was almost painful sometimes, because Viktor still felt like he didn’t deserve it.

The hardest to face was the media. The pictures that Dmitry had uploaded spread like wildfire, and there would be no permanent removal of them. Viktor hated knowing that even now, some people might be looking at him the way Daniil once had, getting off at his expense. Yakov had pushed him to attend therapy sessions again, and Viktor wondered if his therapist could help him reach some sort of acceptance.

His fans stood by him as well. He only ever replied to a select few of their comments on social media, but the fact that they still supported him after everything was a testament to how wonderful and understanding they were. Many had even taken to policing his tags, flagging Daniil’s pictures whenever they inevitably found their way to a bigger media platform. Possibly the most touching experiences were now his fan meet-ups, which he scheduled whenever he flew to various countries for his or Yuuri’s competitions. The meetups were nothing out of the ordinary, but he found more and more people attending, to the point that he had to start booking venues rather than meeting in parks. During autograph sessions, at least ten people would tell them that he’d given them the courage to seek help with their own assault and mental health issues. He wished he could express how much those moments meant to him.

“It only takes one seed to grow a forest,” Yuuri said when Viktor relayed the experience to him one night while they lay on their mattress on the floor – they’d ordered a new bed frame and it hadn’t arrived yet. Viktor loved this though – it felt like high-end camping. “You’re making a difference, my love.”

“Sometimes a tree needs support to grow strong,” Viktor mumbled as he played with Yuuri’s growing hair. “I couldn’t do any of this without you, _zolotse_.”

Feeling like the conversation had gotten too heavy, Viktor wrapped his arms around Yuuri and leaned in, pretending to want to kiss him. Instead, he blew a raspberry against his neck. Yuuri snorted in shock and pushed at Viktor’s head.

“Ah, stop, uncle, uncle!” he laughed, grabbing a pillow and whapping Viktor in the face. Viktor grabbed his own pillow and the war began. It felt childish, but Viktor couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard. The two of them ran into the living room and stacked moving boxes to create a maze-like fort. Makkachin rested on the couch, watching with interest, her tail wagging every time one of her humans emerged from hiding to attack the other.

After a while, they collapsed back onto their mattress, laughing. Yuuri leaned over and kissed Viktor deeply.

When they parted, Yuuri touched Viktor’s face, which he realized was streaked with tears.

“ _Zutto isshyo ni itai yo._ ,” Yuuri whispered.

“What does that mean?” Viktor asked. His Japanese vocabulary was shaky at best, so he caught the word ‘want’, but the others were still foreign to him. 

Yuuri kissed him again. “Tell me when you figure it out.”

“Two can play at that game,” Viktor said. “ _Ne magu zhit’ bes tebya.”_

“I can’t live without you either,” Yuuri replied with a snarky grin. 

Viktor gaped at him. “You’re cheating!” 

“How am I cheating? I’ve been studying! Being in Russia has made you lazy.” 

“Japanese is harder than Russian.” 

“Says you.” 

Viktor and Yuuri spent the early hours of the morning talking back and forth to each other, testing each other in their respective languages. Viktor had to admit defeat when Yuuri knew almost every sentence he threw at him. He loved this – moving out of his old house had given him the finality that he needed to continue healing. Now everything was as new for him as it was for Yuuri. They could begin from scratch – building their life together, instead of incorporating each other in what had existed before. Viktor had become good at new beginnings, but this was his favorite by far. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bratik - brat [Russian]  
> Zutto isshyo ni itai yo - I want to be with you forever. [Japanese]  
> Ne magu zhit’ bes tebya - I can't live without you. [Russian]
> 
> I chickened out and skipped the trial. :\ I was up until 4:30 this morning, trying to bring myself to write it, but I just couldn't. I'm so self-conscious about my lack of knowledge in that field. I'm very sorry! Have some fluffy Viktuuri moments to make up for it!
> 
> I did want to make sure to add the unfairness of the sentencing for Daniil's crimes against Viktor. Daniil got what he deserved, but there's still so much taboo around homosexuality, and male rape. I feel like in Russia (where monstrosities are currently taking place against gay people) the legal system may not have been comfortable with dealing with Viktor's particular case, and therefore would have mostly ignored it and focused on the murder.
> 
> One more chapter!! I'm really looking forward to this one - after the initial story idea came to me, this was the second plot point that came to mind. I think it will be a good ending, and I hope you enjoy it. So... until tomorrow!
> 
> =(ˆ•ㅅ•ˆ)=


	18. The Long and Winding Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter - Viktor finds acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: I don't believe there are any - please let me know if I missed one!

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – THE LONG AND WINDING ROAD

That season was the hardest of Viktor’s career. Not only did he have to focus on getting back in peak form after a year of eating katsudon and soaking in a hot spring, but every time he attended a competition, the press questions would range between his ordeal with Daniil, his looming permanent retirement, his engagement to Yuuri, and the actual performances. Viktor did his best to redirect the questions that made him uncomfortable, and tried to understand – of course people would be curious. But did they have to be so intrusive? If Yuuri hadn’t been by his side the entire way, Viktor thought he would have cracked before he made it to the Worlds.

Viktor had gotten a taste for how difficult the season would be at the Grand Prix Final, where he’d barely managed to earn gold against Yurio. He even chalked that up to the fact that Yurio was distracted by Otabek Altin’s gruff declaration of love right before his performance. Yuuri had taken bronze, and didn't consider it a win for a solid week after the competition. Viktor understood the disappointing feeling, so he let Yuuri pout for a while. Still, he’d felt so whole sharing the podium with his two favorite skaters in the world.

Yuuri had taken his bronze medal to heart and amped up his practice, working even when Viktor had called it a night. He dominated the Four Continents, putting the rest of the skaters to shame. Yurio beat Viktor at the European Championships fair and square. Viktor couldn't have been prouder. And when their skating paths converged again at the Worlds, Viktor knew he would lose against both of them.

He and Yuuri sat in the kiss and cry, waiting for Yuuri’s final scores. Viktor and Yurio had already skated – Yuri was in first place while Viktor held a solid second.

Viktor handed Yuuri his bottle of water.

“Don’t look so worried,” he admonished. “You skated so beautifully today. I wouldn’t be surprised if you took gold.”

Yuuri turned to look at him, his eyes trying to cut through Viktor’s thoughts. “Me winning gold would put you in third.”

Viktor shrugged and smiled just as the announcer came in over the intercom. 

“Scores for Yuuri Katsuki of Japan – Free Skate score is 225.45, earning him a total of 336.21. He is in first place.”

Viktor threw his arms in the air and cheered with the rest of the crowd. He wrapped himself around a stunned Yuuri, kissing his cheek and rubbing his hair.

“That’s a world record! Yuuri! I can’t believe it, I am so proud of you!”

“I… won…?” Yuuri said, staring at the screen displaying his scores. He blinked a few times and squinted like he couldn’t believe his eyes. Viktor reached into his pocket and pulled out Yuuri’s glasses case, handing it to him.

“Read it for yourself! You won! You won! I am so proud of you, _zolotse_!”

Yuuri started crying, burying his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. Viktor rubbed his back, wiping tears from his own eyes and flashing peace signs at the cameras that had zoomed in to catch Yuuri’s reaction. 

When he stood on the podium, to Yuuri’s left, he proudly held up his bronze medal. For the first time in his life, he was pleased to have lost. He couldn’t imagine losing to better people. Yuuri stood in the first place spot, a white and red flag draped around his shoulders while the Japanese national anthem played. He barely moved, still completely stunned by the turn of events. 

After the anthem finished and photographers swarmed them, Viktor took hold of Yuuri’s sleeve to get his attention. He beckoned his fiancé to lean over, and took the gold disc between his fingers.

“As promised,” he said with a cheeky grin before he kissed it. Then he pulled the medal down and kissed the wearer. He swore he saw fireworks, though it may have just been the cameras. When he parted, he whispered in Yuuri’s ear, “Will you marry me?”

“I thought that was the plan?” Yuuri asked, a confused look passing over his red face.

“It is,” Viktor assured him. “But you were the one who proposed last time. I wanted to do it properly too.”

Yuuri snorted. But then his face became gentle. “Yes.”

On the other side of the podium, Yurio pretended to gag.

*

“Ugh, I can’t believe I lost to you three _again_!” Chris complained as he helped Viktor to tie the tie of his exhibition outfit. It was a more subdued costume than he was used to – long skating pants that had been fashioned to look like suit bottoms, and a fitted white shirt, undone a few buttons. “It’s embarrassing, it really is.”

“Maybe if you spent less time obsessing over your boyfriend, you would have had time to practice enough to beat us,” Yurio picked at him.

“We’ll catch up to you,” Phichit promised from his spot on the bleachers.

“We look forward to it,” Viktor turned to grin at his fiancé’s best friend.

“Hold still, you,” Chris pulled the tie to get Viktor’s attention. Viktor straightened his shoulders. “I can’t believe you don’t know how to tie a tie. You’re going to have to learn if you want to help Yuuri get into his banquet suit!”

Yuuri turned beet red and mumbled, “I can tie my own.”

Chris clicked his tongue. “Well at least one of you isn’t totally inadequate when it comes to dressing yourself.” He loosened the tie to look easygoing in an accidentally-on-purpose way.

“You cut me to the quick,” Viktor laughed.

“Good,” Chris pouted. “There. You look perfect.”

As the bronze medalist, Viktor would be skating first, followed by Yurio, then Yuuri. He and Yuuri had entertained the idea of doing another pairs performance, but then Viktor changed his mind.

“Next year,” he promised. “This year, I would like to skate to something by myself. I have a message for the world and it feels right as a solo piece.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Yuuri had said. What had Viktor ever done to deserve someone as supportive as him?

“Viktor Nikiforov,” the stage director approached the group.

“Here,” Viktor raised a finger.

“You’ll be on in about ten minutes, once the Ladies’ performances are completed. Please get on deck in five minutes. Yuri Plisetsky and Yuuri Katsuki, please also stay close by and get on deck when Mr. Nikiforov enters the ice.”

They all nodded in understanding and the stage director veered off to find her next target. 

Viktor looked out at the ice, watching Lidiya gliding through her exhibition routine. The day they arrived in Berlin, she’d approached him and the two of them talked for hours about Daniil, and the pictures that had also been uncovered of her. After Daniil’s disappearance and arrest, Lidiya switched coaches quickly, and still managed to win gold, beating Mila by mere points. Apparently, Katenka hadn’t taken the news as well, and dropped out for the rest of the season. Viktor was glad to have been able to talk with one of them again, and asked her to pass on his regards to his other old friend.

Lidiya slowed to a halt on the ice, crouching down with her hands folded across her chest, marking the end of her routine. The crowd cheered.

“Well, I guess that’s my cue,” Viktor said, working his shoulders to settle into his outfit a little better. “See you on the other side.”

“Viktor?” A new voice called out from the entrance to the skater’s seating area.

Viktor instantly put on a smile and turned toward to face the owner of the voice, expecting to see a fan who had managed to get by security. His smile fell when he saw the group of seven standing before him.

“M…Mama?! _Papa_?!”

It was really them. After fifteen years of utter silence, here they were, standing right in front of him. Céleste Nikiforov looked as beautiful as ever, her dark hair streaked with some silver, lines of grief and laugher more prominent on her face than Viktor remembered. Vasily Nikiforov stooped as if the weight of the world had crushed him long ago. His hair – the hair Viktor had inherited – had turned white over the years and his aquamarine eyes swam with shadows. He huddled in a large coat, which he held wrapped around his body as if acting as a barrier against Viktor.

At their side, Viktor recognized Darya, Irina, and Yelena, as well as two other sisters that had been born more recently, Polina and Natasha. They looked even more grown from the pictures Mémé had shown him during his last visit. They stared at him as if trying to put a lost memory in place.

His group of friends had gone absolutely silent, watching the scene with wide eyes. Having kept up with his recent interviews, they knew Viktor was estranged from his family.

Céleste broke the tension, walking to Viktor. She didn’t hug him like he thought she would, and he was glad for that. But she did reach out a hand and smooth the wrinkles on the shoulder of his shirt. Tears glittered in her eyes.

“It will never be enough to say how sorry I am,” she whispered, cupping his face with her hand. “My baby boy. My wonderful, beautiful, talented son.”

“He’s not yours,” Yurio scoffed, walking closer as if preparing to put himself between Viktor and his mother. “You gave up the right to call him your son the day you kicked him out.”

“Yuri,” Viktor said quietly. It was enough to silence the blonde-haired skater. He huffed and plopped down next to Phichit.

“How can you come here now?” Viktor demanded. “After all of these years?”

“We saw the articles about you.” Céleste shook her head. “I couldn’t believe it – Daniil? He was always such a good coach to you and Tatiana – a good man.”

“He’s also a murderer, and a rapist,” Viktor pointed out coldly. "He killed Dmitry and nearly destroyed me."

“Yes. I’m sorry, I… I’m not saying anything right.” Céleste said regretfully, lowering her eyes, her face red. “I’m sorry.”

Viktor didn’t know what to do. Did he want them to leave? No. But he also couldn’t bring himself to understand why he wanted them to stay either. After everything….

“Fifteen years...” Viktor croaked, but before he could think of anything else to say, the stage director returned.

“Viktor Nikiforov, we’re expecting you on deck, please.”

“May we have a few minutes?” Chris asked her delicately. “Family reunion.”

“I’m sorry, but we’re on a tight schedule—”

“Jesus Christ, give the man a moment!” Yurio shouted, rolling his eyes. “You know what, I’ll go first, I don’t care. Viktor, take all the time you need. I’ll stall.”

“Thank you,” Viktor said and the teenager stalked off with a very affronted stage director. 

Viktor returned his attention to his family. The girls hung quietly around, as if waiting for an explosion. He caught his father’s eye. The tension was so thick, it was like trying to draw breath in a pool full of honey.

Vasily Nikiforov walked forward, parting the group of people like the Red Sea. Viktor had never noticed how tall he’d grown until he realized he could stare straight into his father’s eyes. The two of them regarded each other silently.

Without warning, Vasily dropped his face into his hand and wept.

“Papa…” Irina said, moving forward, but Céleste stopped her with a shake of her head.

“God _damn_ it, it’s not fair!” Vasily sobbed as he clenched his hair between his aged fingers. “It’s not fair of me to be the one to fall apart – not after what I did. I can never make right the ways I’ve wronged you, Viktor. Never. And it kills me a little more every day to know that! If nothing else comes of today, I want you to know I will go to my _grave_ regretting my actions against you—”

Viktor really looked at his father. In his memory, Vasily was still the gruff, overbearing and burly hunter whose affection for his family was shown through kind gestures rather than words. To see him cry now... it was in complete conflict with Viktor's memory. In the last fifteen years, his father had become an old man.

“Shut up,” Viktor said, his voice emptied of all emotion. It’s not that he didn’t feel anything. It’s that he felt everything. He couldn’t compute it. “Just shut up, Papa. Stop apologizing, if you don’t think it’s going to do any good. You threatened to _shoot me_. You didn’t tell me about Tati’s funeral – I had to find her grave on my own. You left me at the mercy of a monster. You may not have hurt me physically, but what you did rivaled Daniil in cruelty.”

With every point in Viktor’s list, Vasily nodded his head. “I know. I was cruel. And perhaps I’m being cruel now, bringing it back when you seem happy. I understand if you want us to leave. But I want you to know that I... I love you. I regret it took me so long to bring myself to admit it to you. But I take comfort in knowing that you’ve grown to be a better man than the one who came before you.”

Viktor glared as his father and turned his head away.

“Viktor…” Yuuri said hesitantly. He moved forward, his skate guards clinking with every step. Viktor slid his hand into Yuuri’s outstretched one, gripping him tightly. How did Yuuri know he'd needed him there at just that moment?

“This is my fiancé,” he said bluntly. He watched carefully for his father’s reaction, testing him with the reality that Viktor would not stop being gay because it suited him.

“Yuuri Katsuki,” Yuuri greeted, holding his free hand for Vasily to shake. Surprisingly, his father did so.

“I’ve seen you in the some of the interviews,” he said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “You’re good for my son. Thank you for being there for him when his family failed him.”

Yuuri gave a polite bow to Céleste as well, who looked slightly taken aback by the cultural greeting.

“Viktor,” she said, pulling Natasha close to her. “Would you like to meet your sisters?”

The five girls swayed apprehensively on their feet as they regarded their long-lost brother. Viktor was struck by how each of them was a perfect combination of their parents, yet they still looked so unique. The twins, Darya and Irina were thin and lanky, like Viktor, but had their mother’s wavy, dark brown hair. Darya had cropped hers short while Irina pulled hers into a bun. Of all of them, Irina had an expression that screamed ‘Tatiana’. Viktor’s heart longed for his older sister – she would have adored these girls. Yelena shared Viktor’s hair and eyes, but she stood a little stockier, looking more like Uncle François than the others. Polina and Natasha both shared their mother’s dark hair and eyes, but Viktor could see their father’s primal grit shining through with every expression.

“I already know you,” he said to them with a smile. It was different with them – they couldn’t help who they’d been born to any more than he could. Still, they were practically strangers. He couldn’t just start talking to them the way he once did with Tati. So he compromised, putting on his fan-meeting voice and mannerisms. He pointed to each of them in turn. “Darya, Irina, Yelena, Polina, and Natasha. Mémé has told me all about you. Darya, you like to skate, right?”

Darya nodded breathlessly, her blue eyes wide with wonder. “I… I’ve watched all of your programs. I am a _huge_ fan.”

“She made the cut for the Junior Worlds this year,” Céleste said proudly.

“Is that so?” Viktor asked, chuckling slightly, trying to work some feeling back into his words, hoping that it would jump-start his real emotions. “Well, perhaps someday soon we can practice together.”

Darya looked about ready to faint. “Yes, please!”

“Are you really our brother?” Little Natasha asked. “You’re old.”

Chris snorted.

“You wound me, _rybka_ ,” Viktor clutched at his chest. He balanced on his skates and kneeled down to her level. “How old are you now?”

Natasha held up eight fingers. Viktor gasped dramatically.

“You’re telling me _I’m_ old? How can you possibly be eight already?! Next thing you know, you’ll be asking to borrow the keys to my car!”

His sisters laughed at that and the tension broke. Slowly, very slowly, feeling crept back into Viktor’s soul. But it was nice – the easygoing sensation that he’d always dreamed of, surrounded by his family, talking and joking. He could imagine Tatiana smiling at all of them together. He smiled too.

“Mr. Nikiforov, please get on deck,” the stage director returned, looking panicked. “Mr. Plisetsky is ad-libbing – you _have_ to get him off of the ice, _please_.”

“I can go next if you want,” Yuuri offered. 

Viktor shook his head, rising from his crouch. “No, _zolotse_. You earned your first-place spot. You’re not going to lose that because of me. I’ll go.”

He turned to his family. “I’ll be right back. We still need to talk.”

“Yes,” Céleste agreed. “We’ll be right here. Skate well.”

Viktor pecked Yuuri self-consciously on the cheek, still testing the waters when it came to his family’s reaction. For their part, his sisters all giggled, except for Natasha who squealed, covering her eyes and blushing. Céleste smiled softly, and Vasily looked mildly uncomfortable, looking like he still wanted to say something. 

_We’ll work on it,_ Viktor thought. He nodded to his sisters and began following the stage director.

“Viktor,” his father called. Viktor turned to face his father. Without preamble, Vasily pulled his jacket open, revealing the loudest tie-dye t-shirt Viktor had ever seen. Emblazoned across the front read the words I AM PROUD OF MY GAY SON.

That did it. In a rush, Viktor’s insides returned to him, bringing with them a wave of emotion the likes of which he hadn’t felt in months. He stifled a sob, rushing forward and throwing his arms around his father.

His father returned the hug, the two of them rocking back and forth, sniffling loudly enough to make nearby patrons turn curiously their way.

“Mr. Nikiforov, I’m so sorry to interrupt,” the stage director cut in, keeping one eye on the scene in front of her and one on the ice. “But Mr. Plisetsky is starting to strip tease. _Please._ ”

Everyone burst into laughter.

“I’m coming,” Viktor said, parting from his father and wiping his own eyes.

“So is half the audience,” Chris commented, watching Yuri’s improvised show. “Wow. Where did he learn that, I wonder, huh, Yuuri? We’re terrible influences.”

*

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the ice the 2018 World Championship Men’s bronze medalist – Viktor Nikiforov!”

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Naturally, they’d been riled up by Yuri – a tough act to follow, for sure.

Viktor skated a lap around the rink, waving to some of the fans that he could see through the blinding lights. Then he skated to the center of the rink. In the past, he usually made his exhibition pieces longer – he liked to skate his favorite songs as long as he could. But tonight’s song was short and full of raw passion.

Paul McCartney’s voice echoed through the auditorium with the first words of the ballad, ‘[The Long and Winding Road”](%E2%80%9D)’.

Viktor almost forgot to move. He started half a second later than he normally would have, but it wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone except maybe Yakov and Yuuri. The audience cheered a little when they recognized the song. He used their energy as fuel. This song was for them. And him. And Yuuri. And his family.

_Many times I’ve been alone, and many times I’ve cried._

_Anyway, you’ll never know the many ways I’ve tried._

Viktor found his family in the audience. He could tell by the way Darya’s eyes lit up that was soaking in his every move like a sponge. Natasha sat propped on the wall, held in place by Vasily while she applauded.

Viktor broke from his routine to skate closer to them, grinning at them as he passed and launching himself into the air, landing a perfect quad flip. The crowd cheered again before falling silent again, completely spellbound.

So many years lost…

But perhaps many years ahead? The thought made Viktor giddy.

He spotted Yuuri standing by, waiting for his turn to go on. Struck with inspiration, Viktor decided to have fun and improvise the ending. He performed a quick spin before thrusting a toe pick into the ice to stop himself. He leaned back, placing one hand on his chest and pointing the other toward his beautiful fiancé. It was the ending to Yuuri’s first free skate with Viktor as his coach. He knew Yuuri recognized it by the way he covered his mouth.

_Lead me to your door._

He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. There was still so much healing – the path ahead was just as long and winding as the one behind him. But every time those brown eyes stared lovingly back at him, he knew he could carry on.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zolotse – my gold  
> rybka – little fish
> 
> Wow. Here we are, at the end of the story! It kind of seems surreal - I've been working on this story since early March! 
> 
> Thank you guys SO much for reading and commenting! I'd originally written this as a way to exercise my writing skills and challenge myself to write something outside of my comfort zone. I was really nervous about posting it here, but you were all so kind and inclusive, I started really looking forward to posting my next chapters!
> 
> I really wanted to make sure that Viktor's reunion with his family was sweet, but not one where he has totally forgiven them. Viktor deserves to be mad at them for altering the course of his life for fifteen years. His parents are definitely more ready to reconcile than he is. That being said, I think Viktor has reached a point in his life where he would want to listen to what they had to say, and keep an open mind. I think Viktor would mostly be interesting in establishing a relationship with his sisters, and that would bring him closer to his parents by default. Otherwise, he doesn't really *need* his family for anything, so he wouldn't go back to relying on them emotionally any time soon. He would continue to be wary, but that wariness would fade over time.
> 
> I've got a couple of headcanons surrounding that idea (and a couple of others) that may turn into one-shots. ;P I'll start compiling and we'll see if it's enough content for another story, because now I'm hooked. ;P
> 
> Take care everyone and, again, THANK YOU!!!
> 
> =(ˆ•ㅅ•ˆ)=


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